Not Another Word
by Lapis Love
Summary: With anonymous and explicit letters showing up in her mailbox and a neighbor she can't seem to stop running into, Bonnie Bennett wonders if she's going to have a summer of angst, release, or if she's being set up for heartbreak. AH/AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is what happens when you start to work on one story as your farewell to fanfic. Your brain veers off with a new concept. I have a lot of reasons why my other stories are languishing, and it mostly has to do with the heavy mythology in them, and also lacking a true, ardent desire to write, period. But this happened today and for now I'm rolling with it. Enjoy.**

* * *

This letter had to be meant for someone else. It wasn't addressed to me specifically but did have my apartment number scrawled on the front. The author failed to leave their name behind so I had no idea who this was from. Anonymous letters? In 2016? Who does that anymore? Nevertheless, I swallowed, hands shaking a bit as I read it again. Slower this time.

 _The ending to our night happened much differently in my mind. That night I didn't simply let you slip out of the car and sway those hips to and fro and didn't follow. When you turned to bid me goodnight again with a wave, instead you crooked your finger beckoning me to follow. I told my driver to circle the block and wait for me, but then checked and told him to go home and I'd call him in the morning. I had no intentions of leaving until I knew for certain exactly what your cunt tasted like, felt like._

You know, you shouldn't read explicit letters in public especially not while walking over slick marble flooring. Miraculously I made it to the elevator without incident, still reading the letter.

 _At the thought I immediately stiffened in my pants. Your eyes looked down and saw I was more than eager to play whatever game you wanted. You smiled a little and then entered inside your home with me close on your heels, so close that I accidentally tripped you, but held you securely around the waist so you wouldn't fall. As a resort, I pressed my hard cock against your firm backside and you hissed. The sound alone had nearly been my undoing. You said something to me with a wry smirk, but I didn't pay attention to your words because I was too busy watching your mouth and thinking of the ways I would use it._

Blood rushed through my thighs headed straight for my core. Gotdamn. Who was this lucky bitch because it certainly wasn't me? The last time I felt a hard dick was two months ago compliments of my fiancé.

My fiancé. I sighed just thinking about him.

The ding of the elevator's arrival had my head jerking up. Two people stepped off the lift and I boarded, pressing the button for my floor.

I was going through something of a dry spell. A rut. My life was so damn anal it needed a stool softener to loosen up. My friends partied _hard_ on the weekends and could barely make it into work come Monday morning. I socialized when I could, taking care to attend the right parties, read the right books, but really who the hell was I trying to impress? The Pope?

It's been a long time since I've done a bad thing. I haven't even jaywalked in front of a cop in months! My name is Bonnie Bennett and I follow all of the rules.

I wasn't following one right now. Reading someone else's mail regardless if it had my address on it. I thought about that. I flipped the envelope over, studied the number of my apartment but it didn't have my name, the city or state of my residence listed. Just the number 7206. Was this an internal thing? And if so, what the hell?

Practical joke or the initiation of a stalker, there was one paragraph left to read. My lids lowered just as the doors were closing, but a hand shot through.

A man gently forced the doors apart and boarded, but he stopped and looked at me. I stared at him for a second. Just long enough to get the gist of his features, but that glance was enough to warm my already hot face. I averted my gaze, the pulse in my neck throbbed. The squeak of rubber soles coupled with the scent of piney musk and sweat had me shuffling out of the way to make room for him.

The doors closed.

His long muscular arm speared across my view as he hit a button on the panel. I didn't look to see what floor he was going to since I was partially distracted by his arm. Pale, corded in muscles, veins, and a light film of sweat. He must have gone on a run.

"Excuse me," he said after the fact.

I waited for him to step to the far corner of the elevator since it we were the only two people on it, but he stayed close, hovering a step behind my left shoulder. He was so close I could feel his body heat. I could hear him trying to catch his breath, and what should have been a turn off…well it was actually kind of…sexy.

Get it together, Bon.

Being as short as I am, all I could really see of him from the corner of my eye was his chin and _damn_ he had an insanely hot jawline. I cleared my throat and crammed the letter inside my handbag and pulled out my phone. Always a handy distraction when you didn't want to be social.

However, I was envisioning something I shouldn't. The man next to me as the man who wrote that letter and me in the starring role as the love interest. But I cancelled that because I was engaged, and the guy next to me was a stranger and nothing like my fiancé.

Thankfully the ride was quick and paused on—I checked to see—the fourth floor. Not my floor but on this level was the gym and swimming pool. Cold air rushed in as the door opened and the guy stepped off, casting a look at me over his shoulder.

"Have a good evening," he said and all I could manage was a near inaudible:

"You too."

This time I didn't glance, I cataloged. Scanned. He had black hair that was wild and tousled. His light grey T-shirt, damp with sweat clung to his broad shoulders and muscular back. Black sweat pants hugged a very tight booty. A half-finished bottle of some energy drink dangled between long, tapered fingers. The most memorable thing about him was the color of his eyes. The bluest of blues, like looking up at a Nairobian sky. I had never seen him before. Then again I traveled a lot for my career and had only been living here for about three months.

Making it to my apartment, I sat my purse on the breakfast bar. That letter was burning a hole in the bottom of it. I could feel it.

Something small and furry darted into the room. A cute kitten face stared up at me while a tiny pink tongue licked impossibly long whiskers. A delicate "meow" followed by a low hiss let me know my two-year old cat, Sphinx was hungry.

Sphinx moved forward and wrapped his lanky body around my ankle before trotting off into the living room to wait for his dish to be filled with water and Fancy Feast. It was time to go into 'mommy' mode.

"TBD," I say aloud, tapping the handle of my purse. "To be continued."

* * *

They called me…tame. Safe. Boring. The dependable one. Good names that signified I wasn't a threat to anyone. But what I really am is observant, clever, resilient. I hadn't once pouted it had been more than a week since I heard from my fiancé, or received another anonymous letter, or had run into my sweaty neighbor. No, I had too much on my plate to focus on any of it.

I was running late for a dinner meeting with prospective investors who were also running late since their flight had yet to land at Vancouver International. That gave me about an hour to change into something that said 'give me your money but don't expect a blowjob for it'. I also happened to be on the phone with my business partner, Dietrich Thames. He couldn't be anymore English than his surname.

Dietrich and I met seven years ago through a mutual friend I was no longer on speaking terms with. He rubbed me the wrong way at first—his arrogance he thought had been charming, but really it was grating. After getting plastered a few times together, I discovered Dietrich did have a soul that was older than his biological years. We shared similar views, and the man was very good at management. Without him it would have taken me longer to get to where I am today.

"We can't get the equipment up there because the permits haven't come through, which means production will be a week behind schedule," I imagined him rubbing at the perpetual scruff around his chin.

"How the hell did that happen? I thought everything was squared away with the county?"

"They had a special hearing because _citizens_ ," Dietrich patronized, "were worried about the possible pollution to the local forest, and how their town will be depicted."

"AKA they want more money," I grumbled.

"AKA they want more money," Dietrich agreed. "Our budget is already tight enough as it is, and intuition is telling me they won't be happy with an additional ten grand."

"That's all we have left in auxiliary funds and they can't have it. What was the second location the scouts found?"

I rushed inside of my high rise apartment complex. There hadn't been anymore letters, and after a week passed I stopped expecting there to be. Yet that small anticipatory rush that today the drought might end sprung up each time I checked my mailbox, which was exactly what I was doing at the moment. Reaching in pulling out a bundle of mail, phone wedged between cheek and shoulder, the activity of my neighbors checking their boxes ceased to be a factor.

There it was. Same ecru envelope. Same numbers of my apartment scrawled across the middle. I licked my lips. Dietrich's accent forced me back to the present.

"Port Deposit, Maryland."

"What?" my nose scrunched because I had completely forgotten what we were talking about.

"The second location," he barked.

"Oh, right. Port Deposit…what a name."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he replied gruffly.

"Try to get Thalia and Remy to see if they can work something out with the comptroller at our parent company. If not, we'll figure out how to move things to Maryland. One bridge at a time."

Though I was the owner of an independent production company there was nothing truly independent about it. Unless you were a billionaire making films as a hobby, everyone in the entertainment business was indebted to someone else.

Themyscira Films was my baby. Shorts, independent films, and documentaries were our specialty. One of our films premiered at Sundance in Cannes this past spring. Critically it did okay, generating some buzz, but not the type to catapult it on a broader scale. The director and writer was one of my close friends from college, Iris West who convinced me to play a small part. That would be the first and the last time I'd step in front of a camera.

My better half had been there to walk me down the red carpet but the whole time his mind had been preoccupied. It had been fine because I understood. My fiancé is an architect; one of the best. That's why his company outsourced his talent to their German brethren and sent him packing to Dusseldorf. Deadlines, tight schedules, measurements that had to be so exact marched through his thoughts the entire time we were in France together. That had also been the last time we saw each other in the flesh. If I felt the disconnect then, I was surely feeling it now two months later.

Getting out of my head I stared at the letter wondering about its contents, but more specifically the author. Why was I being targeted? Should I bring this up to management and see if they could perhaps screen who dropped off mail?

Those decisions would have to wait because I needed to get ready for my dinner meeting.

Cinching the letter with the rest of my mail, I hustled to the elevator. I was only five feet away but I ran for it anyways and saw _him_. My feet forgot how to work. I tripped over absolutely nothing and pitched forward into the lift. My shoes flew off. Whatever was in my hands went flying in every which direction. If only that had been the end of it.

Of course not.

Nothing but air and fumbling hands could really stop my momentum but it was far too late. My cheek crashed into a tight, flat stomach, my knees tasted the marble floor, and then I was sliding down, face planting in his crotch.

It is very possible to die from embarrassment.

In situations like that you had two options: laugh or cry. I opted for the former but it sounded more like a strangled groan.

"Are you all right?"

"Are you okay?"

"Ohmygod!"

Perfect, there were other people on the elevator with us as if landing face first in a stranger's groin wasn't bad enough. There just had to be witnesses. It's a good thing I'm a black girl because otherwise my face would be beet red.

Hands gripped my shoulders and my hot face was suddenly cool. The man, my neighbor this time dressed in a suit and not workout gear was peering down at me, cheeks rosy but not as rosy as the first time I saw him. I didn't want him to speak to me, and I wondered if his cock was hurting as badly as my knees since I pretty much head butted him. I blanched at that particular analogy, and tried to wrench myself free. Unfortunately, his hold was too confining and I couldn't move.

"You okay?" he asked calmly. Almost too calmly.

"I…um…yeah. I'm sorry."

He helped me up. My gaze automatically lowered to my shoeless feet.

"Here you go, miss," the other guy handed me my purse and mail.

"Thanks."

I accepted my shoes from the lady and smiled my thanks.

"You're bleeding," the guy I crashed into said.

I thought he meant my knees, but he was staring too intently at my face, and that's when I felt it. The blood coming from my left nostril. My hand flew to cover it. It happened sometimes. Nosebleeds. An aliment I've been dealing with since I was seventeen.

"Oh," I skirted around him, pressed my back into the wall. Three pairs of eyes blinked at me and I hated it. "I'm fine."

"Should I call 911?" the woman was already digging for her phone.

"It's all right. It happens sometimes. Not a big deal," I tried to reassure her.

No one looked convinced, but we arrived on a floor and someone was hesitant to leave. Finally the man, not the one I literally ran into, got off.

"Here," the blue-eyed Adonis whipped out the handkerchief in his breast pocket. He stretched it out to me.

I accepted it and quickly wiped away the blood that stained my mouth, and used a corner to plug my nose. He never once stopped looking at me whereas I stared at everything but him. We arrived on another floor and the woman reluctantly got off, offering again to call for an ambulance.

I was glad when the elevator doors closed in her face.

It was just he and I once more. I guess I could ask for his name since I now had a vague idea of how big his dick was. Impressive to say the least, but talking while holding a handkerchief to your nose was an unflattering look. Plus, when I was mortified, I found it extremely difficult to converse.

"Are you sure you're okay? I have been hitting the crunches pretty hard lately," he joked. "I should check to make sure my abs didn't break your nose."

I wheezed a laugh. "I'm fine."

He stepped closer and I couldn't go anywhere since my back was already braced against the wall. His warm hand pulled mine away. He framed my cheeks and tilted my head back. Nope, this wasn't awkward at all. Having a man who looked unreal like him looking up my nose which he was a hundred percent focused on.

"Are you a doctor?" I asked to break up the silence.

"No."

Then what the hell are you looking for and why are your hands so soft, I almost said. But I stood there like a block of ice that soon began to thaw the second the pads of his thumbs lightly caressed my cheeks.

That was too intimate. I had been deprived and he was too good looking for this not to tip over into fantasy territory. I almost asked him if he tasted better with whipped cream or chocolate but bit savagely into my cheek. I had to think hard about my fiancé, _real_ hard, but once his image was cemented, my lids shuttered and I was back in aloof airspace.

This man's ridiculously blue orbs roamed my features, pausing for too long on my lips.

The elevator slowed to a stop on my floor. Freedom.

"This is where I get off," I said. And realized how that sounded. My stomach flipped. The innuendo made my neighbor smile.

"Glad I could help you get off."

Okay. I was so not going to have a reaction to that and would deny my inner muscles clenched. Just a little.

I maneuvered my head out of his hold, inched by him, and bolted once the doors opened.

Damn, and I still don't know his name.

 **A/N: Thoughts? I know you have to be curious who Bonnie's fiancé is, who's sending her those letters, and especially about ole blue eyes. Please, let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Back with another one. Thank you for showing this love, kittens.**

* * *

When the world wants into your bed what chance do you have of anyone believing the truth of your words when you speak? They believed they knew you. Knew you better than you know yourself, knows what's best for you and when you should have what's best for you. Living a life under a microscope, we all do it from time to time even when we feel that no one is watching or that no one cares. Someone out there is waiting for you to make one bold move to either prove them right, or to shock them into silence, because they earnestly didn't see it coming. Those moments were hard to fabricate but no one should live the same day twice.

The day I was living began with a mandatory session with my therapist.

"It happened again," I confessed.

"The nosebleeds?"

I nodded solemnly.

"What do you think triggered it?"

I squeezed my hands and thighs together, stared at the blonde haired, green-eyed woman across from me. Apart from our breathing it was deathly silent in the room.

Dr. Camille O'Connell. She was easy to talk to, easy to look at, easy to be around. I've been coming to her for the last year and some change. On this gloomy Thursday morning, she was my stenographer and confessor, my best friend, and voice of reason. That's what I paid her to be anyways.

Two cups of steaming chamomile tea sat untouched on the glass coffee table between us. She waited patiently for me to answer. Long legs crossed, tablet perched on her knee, stylus in her hand. Camille knew most of my sordid business, but she didn't know everything. Today I figured I'd be upfront and honest about the easiest thing for me to spill.

"What do you think triggered your nosebleed, Bonnie?"

I hunched a shoulder. "It could have been from sheer embarrassment," I quipped. "I tripped getting on the elevator at my apartment and landed face first in this guy's crotch," my lips twitched.

Camille had no reaction beside the slight raise of her brows. I waited to see if she might jot it down, but she didn't. "What happened afterwards?"

"You mean…did I invite him back to my place?"

Camille kept quiet. She wasn't the kind of person to put words in your mouth. She wanted you to speak plain. So I did.

"Nothing happened. He helped me to my feet, tried to check out my nose, but I told him I was fine. I felt fine," I reassured. "But…I can't stop thinking about him."

"Why?"

"He's sexy." Though his features were vague because another seven days passed since our last encounter, there were parts of him I remembered with perfect clarity. The shape of his jaw, how long his lashes were, his arched brows, and those blue eyes.

"His physical appearance, you found it a temptation?"

I did smile then—well I smirked. "Absolutely."

"What had your day been like before the incident with the guy?" Camille veered slightly off the subject of my neighbor so I wouldn't dwell on his sexiness.

I had to think back to last week. "I had production meetings, a crisis that needed to be resolved, and I was running late for a dinner with potential investors. I was trying to juggle too many balls at once."

"Did you take ten minutes to destress like I advised you to?"

"I didn't."

Camille shifted on her seat. "It's important that you have 'me time' breaks throughout your day to decompress and get perspective."

"I know."

"Then make it a point to do at least one thing for yourself for ten minutes every three hours," she ordered. "I think you should also schedule an appointment with your physician about your nosebleed."

I swallowed a groan. "Cami," as she liked being called, "I've been to _five_ specialists since I was seventeen, and they haven't been able to find anything. No cancer, no rupture, defect, nothing. I'm not wasting my time or the copay."

She held up her hands in surrender but I figured she'd broach this topic again at our next session. "Let's go back to your accident with the guy in the elevator…What did you do when you made it home?"

My eyes dipped to her chest to gauge if it was rising higher or faster. Her porcelain face remained unblemished, not a hint of a blush to be found. She was absolutely in professional mode.

Unlike my last therapist.

Shaking off that particular rancid thought, I cleared my throat and looked around the office. Neutral colors, degrees stacked on the walls, strange looking figurines were displayed on the built-in shelves adjacent to her teakwood desk. I've been meaning to ask Camille about them. The air had a pleasant smell.

I met her eyes, "I had Skype sex with my fiancé."

She made a note then. "Were you thinking _only_ of your fiancé?"

"Yes," I scratched behind my ear.

"How are things with you and Tyler?"

"Not well."

Last night I had another fight with my fiancé. Tyler Lockwood, the man I agreed to marry, a man I've known since we were kids. Our similar temperaments were finding it hard to locate equal ground. With our birthdays being five days apart, I believed we were tailored from the same cloth. Sometimes things were just a myth. It's difficult trying to plan a wedding when your future spouse is working in Germany for the next six months, your families are in Virginia, and you're living in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. But I was determined to make it work. However, he was determined to piss me off.

I said I wanted this. The career, husband, family before I hit thirty, and so far I had one and a half things checked off at the age of twenty-eight. I had the career. It was securing the other things that were starting to cause problems.

"You've tried keeping the lines of communication open with him while he's overseas, and not just for sex?"

"It's difficult with the different time zones and our work schedules. He and I are getting married next summer…maybe. We still haven't settled on a date, and he won't be home for good until December," I trailed off.

"Do you want him to come home?"

"Of course."

Cami sat forward a little, "When we're faced with a life transition we either start to talk our way out of something as a means of protecting ourselves, or we run with it with little thought of the consequences or obstacles. Do you feel you're ready to be married?"

"I'm almost thirty."

"And that's not an answer to my question."

I huffed and squinted at Camille. "I am. But what if they come back?"

"The urges?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll deal with it. I want to bring Tyler on this as well. Do you think he'll be up for having a few sessions over the phone?"

"Maybe," I hedged as in maybe not. Tyler was _extremely_ private, and though we'd be spilling our secrets to a trained professional, he would not want his secret to be let out.

"Most people are," Camille was saying, "and are usually the ones who need it the most. Your relationship with him is unique, Bonnie. Unique and complicated."

That was putting it mildly.

"Try to talk to him about it."

"I'll try," I lied for the second time.

My session ended with another homework assignment that would help channel my energy to keep me distracted from backsliding into old coping patterns. Cami wanted me to think long and hard about what I wanted out of my marriage and to write those things down.

"Sometimes we jump into relationships that are comfortable and there's nothing wrong with that. But even comfort can cause anxiety because there's a part of you that believes you could be doing more," had been her parting words as she showed me to the door.

* * *

Later that night I was seated at a quiet table for one in a semi-packed restaurant a block from my office, pouring through scripts trying to find something that had potential. Dietrich had flown to the east coast of the United States to deal with the filming permit issue himself. I knew he wasn't happy about it because he hated to fly.

I had to stop because the scripts were all the same, or appeared to be, or needed so much work it would be a miracle to scrape a decent picture out of it. Guess I should take those ten minutes of me time. Although the work day was over for many, I usually didn't stop working until close to midnight.

Laughter rang out loudly from a table across the eatery. Men, six of them dressed casually, one wore a baseball hat, raised a glass of beer to his mouth. From time to time I caught myself looking at scenes like this as if I were setting up a shot for a movie. Who would the camera love? The guy with the ruddy face who had an amazing laugh, the quiet one with the receding hairline, or the handsome one who didn't know when to shut up?

I guess I was still working. Had to cut that out.

So I dug in my purse and pulled out that letter. Its predecessor was in a shoebox that also housed my vibrator, lube, and some homemade vids shot in black and white film. Thinking about it, it's been a while since I've watched those. Perhaps I'll blow the dust off of them tonight. In any case, I covertly glanced around feeling like all eyes were on me, but not a single soul was watching.

Peeling open the flap, I pulled out the folded note.

 _You love it when I don't touch you even though you want me to. You like it when I stand close but not too close. You like it when I look at you and that's exactly what I was doing._

 _Looking. Feeling you with nothing more substantial than my gaze._

 _We weren't exactly alone. We were in public, hidden behind a partition in a very crowded place._

 _My dick jumped as I thought about taking you right here. I was in front of you in an instant, blocking your way out. Your eyes pleaded for me to be good but to also misbehave. And around you I never want to be thought of as well-mannered. Hard up, and ready to fuck at a moment's notice. I reached and touched you from chin, to neck, tentatively brushed the pad of my thumb on your nipple._

 _You let out a soft gasp but didn't scream at me to stop. Your nipple hardened as I circled it first clockwise and then counterclockwise. It swelled and I wondered how big it could get. I didn't leave its twin out, circled it as well until it peaked and rubbed against my palm. I felt my heartbeat all the way in my dick as I pulled down your top and strapless bra. Your beautiful breasts spilled out, jiggled, and I got an unobstructed view of your dark nipples._

 _Tonight I was determined to make you come just by blowing, sucking, and biting them. And that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted to make you come._

Not gonna lie. I was turned on. Horny. My clit throbbed and I squeezed my thighs together, but that wasn't enough pressure. I sneaked a hand beneath the table, glad there was a tablecloth over it to conceal what I was about to do. However, I caught someone staring right at me. An older gentleman, distinguished with gray on his temples though the rest of his hair was a rich, sable color. He pulled at the knot of his necktie and smiled a little. He was seated across from a woman. On a date and was too busy watching my every move. Scandalous. His gaze dipped down to where he figured my hand was. I deliberately bit into my bottom lip, my brows knitted together. I did touch my clit but only for a brief second, brought my middle finger up and licked the tip.

I laughed when he dropped his fork.

My waiter returned then and I finished off the last shot of lager in my glass.

"Can I get you anything else? Dessert?"

"No thanks, Stefan…Wait on second thought maybe something with chocolate in it."

"Brownie sundae?"

"Sounds perfect."

I watched as Stefan collected my empty plates and glass with deft movements. He tossed me a surreptitious glance that I held for five seconds before burying my face in the open script in front of me. He was cute. Perfectly styled hair, olive skin, deep-set grayish-green eyes. I could cast him as some brooding, tortured anti-hero right this second in a coming of age story. It would test well with audiences. And he'd be a cult star.

My cell buzzed right as my server left. I didn't reach for it. Not right away. It kept buzzing. Sighing, I answered it. "Hey."

"Hey," he responded quietly.

You could hear the unresolved tension from our earlier argument. It was a noxious fume that I was becoming way too accustomed to smelling. It was sad that someone I used to be able to tell everything to, we could barely scrounge enough words together to share our thoughts, too afraid of offending the other with our truth.

He conceded first. "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I'm stressed out."

"So am I, Tyler, but I don't take it out on you."

"I know and I'm sorry."

Our words lapsed again. He apologized but it failed to make me feel better about our relationship. The fight we had was so stupid I could barely remember what it was about. I could only recall Tyler hanging up on me and not picking up when I immediately called him back. If we kept this up we wouldn't make it to December. So I tossed out my therapist's request.

"Camille, my therapist wants to have a few sessions with the two of us. Conference call style, of course."

"No."

"Tyler."

"I don't need a shrink, Bon. If you need to vent to her, that's fine. I'm good."

"We're getting married and I think it would be good for us to talk to someone before we make this commitment."

"We've never had any problems before," Tyler tried to sell his case. "It's just us living on separate continents that's making everything seem harder than it is. When I come back, we'll be fine."

And what if we're not?

I spied my three karat diamond ring and the Cartier watch my dad bought for me after graduating summa cum laude from Northwestern University. My engagement ring was beautiful, but gaudy, and with my fiancé gone I barely wore it. I broke it out when I was around certain people: Camille so she wouldn't analyze me to death about my aversion to advertising my pending wifey status, mutual friends of Tyler and me, and whenever I Skype'd with Ty or my folks. I wasn't really a fan of rings because my fingers were so small I easily lost them. I preferred necklaces and earrings, but your engagement ring…that was supposed to be worn with pride, right? It felt like a shackle.

"Babe," he was saying, "you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Will you just think about it?"

Tyler sighed heavily. "I just don't like the idea of someone prying into my business." I waited him out. He sighed again. "We'll talk some more about this later. I gotta get to bed. I just called to hear your voice. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Stefan returned with my dessert. "It's nice and warm and…cold," he flashed a smile. "I hope you enjoy it."

I picked up the spoon, burrowed it into the thick brownie and plunged it into the ice cream and took both into my mouth. "This is the best thing I've eaten all day."

I laughed again as the tip of my waiter's ears turned red. Men, they were too easy to play.

* * *

I forwent checking my mailbox once dragging myself home on a sugar high. There was a lot more foot traffic in the lobby, and I did my best not to measure anyone too intently. I made it to my floor without incident.

Spoke too soon.

A tiny and fragile frame bumped into me as I turned the corner and I automatically apologized. It was a neighbor, Josephine Santignue, a seventy-six year old transplant from New Orleans who spoke in such a dulcet tone you had to strain to hear her. But she was friendly and only offered advice if you were smart enough to ask her for it.

"Forgive me, child," Josephine drawled.

"You're all right, Miss Josephine. Where are you about to go?"

She was dressed in a fashionable black pantsuit, pearls, and her snazziest shoes.

"I have a date with destiny, chere. As do you," she dumped a covered dish in my hands I fumbled to grasp since my heavy tote was balanced on my arm. "Be a dear and take that up to Penthouse Four."

"Um…"

" _Bonne nuit, poupée."_

That old lady hustled to the elevator faster than I could call her back.

My fate sealed I did as instructed because I didn't want to deal with the consequences of failing to carry out an order given by Miss Josephine. First, I dumped my tote off in my apartment, fed Sphinx, and then took the elevator to the penthouse level, gripping the dish, and tapping my foot.

As expected it was quiet as I disembarked. I looked at the placard attached to the wall right in front of me that told which unit was in which direction. Penthouse Four was to the left.

I came to a stop in front of double oak doors and rang the bell. About thirty seconds later it opened, and an Asian man greeted me.

"Hi," I said, "Miss Josephine wanted me to deliver this to whoever lives here."

Onyx eyes dipped to the dish in my hands, then flicked back up to me. The door widened, "Come in."

I did so tentatively. My apartment was pretty big but this place was ginormous. Upon entry the first thing I noticed were two cream marble busts perched on evergreen pedestals flanked on each side of the long corridor.

Advancing deeper, frescos were painted on the atrium walls. It was a battle scene but I didn't know of what exactly. I was no history scholar and I didn't have time to really look, but if I had to guess maybe Alexander the Great or something from the days of the Byzantine Empire.

The foyer opened into a sprawling living room. A fully stocked bar was to the right, straight ahead was a lacquered dinner table and beyond that a massive fireplace. Above the mantel was the initial "S". To the left of the living room was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. On a raised partition was a black piano and, leaning forward so I could see better, it was a harp. Really?

"Wait here," the man who welcomed me inside said. He strolled through the living room, made a right, and disappeared.

I placed the dish on the coffee table perched between two large chocolate couches. There, my good deed was done for the day. I should make tracks but then I paused.

Music in the form of strings and wind instruments was playing. The tune was familiar, and it finally occurred to me what it was. _Simon and Alisha Forever._

Who lived here? There were no personal pictures on any of the tables. The furnishings were nice, modern, and out of my price range. In fact I began to feel underdressed in my jeans, brown boots, and off the shoulder sweater. I mean, the guy who let me in had been wearing a suit. I kept my hands to myself yet I saw a peculiar statuette on an end table, and was just about to give it a closer look.

Too bad I was no longer alone.

I straightened and my jaw slackened.

It was _him_.

He stood running a towel through his midnight hair, stretching the material of his black T-shirt across an expansive chest. His shirt lifted a little revealing a sliver of skin. That area, that sculpted indentation where waist and hips connected and shaped that delicious V…I couldn't look away from it.

His bare feet made not a sound as he drew closer, but he seemingly hadn't taken notice of me. Not yet.

I gaped at him in profile as he turned slightly to toss the towel on one of the dining room chairs. Ever so slowly his head rotated toward me, and I couldn't explain why my heart was pounding the way it was, or why the saliva in my mouth dried up.

Bullseye, he was looking directly at me.

The impact of his gaze hadn't diminished; and in the muted lighting of his home, it was more intense than those few run-ins we had in the brightly lit elevator.

He offered no smile but there was recognition in his gaze.

He took a step down into the sunken living room.

My legs once again grew a mind of their own and I was moving backwards. "Hi," I squeaked. "I'm…I'm sorry for intruding. Miss…Josephine sent me up here to give you this," I pointed at the dish.

His unnerving eyes fell to said dish and were on me again before I could blink. "Thank you."

"I should go," I inched back another step. He took one forward.

"So soon?"

"I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. I know you live here. I've seen you."

And my face grew more familiar than it should have with your crotch, doesn't mean I need to linger around, I refrained from saying.

"You were on my mind the other day," he confessed.

He was much closer now. So close I felt his presence swallowing me. With his hair still wet, it appeared Gothic black especially against his pale skin. It didn't make him look harsh, but animated like an airbrushed photograph come to life. Whatever body wash he used, it was amazing, and I tried not to breathe it in too deeply.

I frowned, "Why was I on your mind?"

He tapped his nose.

"Right," I fidgeted and looked down.

"You've been okay?"

"Like I told you the day I plowed into you, I'm fine. I need to go."

He stretched out a hand, "I'm Damon. Damon Salvatore."

I hit pause on my retreat plan, eyed his hand, peeked at his lips. "Bonnie…Bennett."

This skin-to-skin contact was no different from when he cupped my face. His touch was gentle but firm letting me know he was here, real.

His fingers squeezed mine but didn't let go. "I've never met a Bonnie before. You're my first."

"Glad to pop your name cherry," was probably the dumbest thing to say, but it was out there in the universe now. My new acquaintance chuckled lowly. "But I guess that makes two of us because I've never met anyone named Damon."

He slid his hand out of mine, smirked. "It's been a while since I've been anyone's first."

My cheeks warmed considerably and I told my mind not picture him sweaty and balls deep in some chick. And then I was awkward. Unsure of where to look, what to do. I needed to leave. Right _now_. Those urges I vaguely talked to Camille about were stirring.

Tongue-tied, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with my left hand.

"Oh, I didn't realize," Damon tipped his chin at my ring. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry I'm engaged or for something else?"

"Both."

I nodded, understanding that when I probably shouldn't while ignoring feeling oddly disappointed. I backed up another step. "Well…enjoy whatever Miss Josephine cooked for you."

"It's her world famous tetrazzini. She makes it for my birthday every year since I've lived here."

"It's your birthday?" He nodded. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, Bonnie," he enunciated every syllable of my name as if he were licking his fingers clean.

Looking around his house it was clear he wanted for very little, but I was curious if there was anything special he wanted to receive on the day of his birth. "Did you get everything you wanted?"

"No," he slipped his hands in his pockets, rocked on his feet.

"What do you want that you don't have?"

"My own Alisha."

My chest heaved after hearing that. Questions burned my tongue but I wasn't going to open up that Pandora's Box. The Asian guy reappeared, phone in hand.

"Mr. Salvatore, sorry to interrupt, it's Graham on the phone."

Damon acknowledged that with a simple nod but by the time he looked at me again, I was already gone.

Wedged in the corner of the elevator traveling to the safety of my floor, I twisted my engagement ring. "My own Alisha," I whispered.

 **A/N: If you've never seen the Misfits, probably won't get the Simon/Alisha reference, just know they were effing awesome! And will have you drowning in feels. We now know who Bonnie's fiancé is, but what is Tyler's secret? Let me know what you thought of this chapter. I want to keep this momentum going, so if you're hungry for it, it may motivate my muse to whip out another chapter expeditiously. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Oh wee oh wow, was not expecting that response to chapter 2. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations. Enjoy and thank you!**

* * *

Friday night and I was on the prowl. In search of a good time that wouldn't leave me in too much trouble. I jockeyed for position at the vanity mirror in the ladies restroom at Mickie's Bar and Grill, ducking elbows and half-listening to the convos around me. Almost everyone was on some sort of mission tonight. Get drunk. Ignore the person you really wanted to talk to. Make someone jealous; knock a bitch out if she looked at you the wrong way. Collect evidence to support or deny someone's fidelity. I loved the feeling of espionage camaraderie.

I gathered my hair wondering if I should pin it up because the crowd grew thick and stifling on Friday and Saturday nights sometimes spilling out onto the sidewalk. So far things weren't bad. I wasn't in danger of sweating anything out. Nevertheless, I twisted my head this way and that, gaze zeroing in on that tattoo behind my right ear. A cenotaph of a past life. I dropped my hair, gave myself a once over satisfied with my relaxed look of: super tight gunmetal blue V-neck shirt and black skinny jeans. My ass, the literal one, looked phenomenal. Round and perky. My tits included, well with the aid of a really good push-up bra.

I rejoined the bedlam sliding into the U-shaped booth sitting next to a red-haired firecracker who shared my first name. Bonnie McCullough.

Sprite, linear, effervescent, naïve, but with a heart of gold is how I'd describe one of my dearest friends. We met in undergrad sharing some of the same classes. Bonnie, whom everyone called M to differentiate between us, studied acoustical engineering with aspirations of being a sound engineer. She tried her luck in the land where dreams came true (for some). It being such a male dominated area and not a lot of opportunities were coming her way, M grew fed up and I lured her to my company. It wasn't terribly hard. She was the director of our sound department and the girl was superb at her job.

Right now she was licking salt from her hand and tossing back a tequila shot. She slammed the rock glass on the table, squeezed the lime between her lips. Her big brown eyes were bright which she fixed on me.

"Fifteen," she said.

"Fifteen what? Shots you've done since I've been gone?"

"No, fifteen as the number of guys I counted who broke their necks to ogle your ass."

I affected an English accent, "Well it is rather lovely."

"I'd tap it."

The really gorgeous thing about M was that she believed in sisterhood above all. Anyone else might have pouted about not being approached or receiving appreciative glances. M, I wouldn't say was above that. She loved flirting and squealed whenever she was called sexy and not cute. She had her moments were self-esteem correlated with male advances. At the heart of it she was a romantic and human, and anytime she was bothered by the lack of offers, she would let you know.

"How many offered to buy you a drink?" I surveyed the spoils. We came here often enough it was easy to spot the regulars from the first timers. So far things were mixed.

"Only one and he was _so_ not my type. Ugh."

We shared a laugh. More drinks arrived in addition to a basket of waffle fries and hot wings. One more person was set to join us, and until our third wheel made their presence known, I stuffed my face and continued perusing.

Naturally my phone would choose to buzz. Oh wonderful, another scathing update from Dietrich who I was beginning to suspect was sabotaging Themyscira Films' latest venture because he used to fuck the director , and let's just say he and Sheldon Reese parted on less than amicable terms.

"Should I answer this?"

"Who is it?" M ripped into a hot wing.

"Dietrich."

"It's Friday and you're not at the office. Send him to voicemail."

"That'll just piss him off more. I'll tell him to text me."

M shrugged, emptied another shot glass, and delicately wiped her lips. "Having the same issues with Sheldon?" I nodded absently while texting. "How cute. He's pissed at his work husband and wants solace from his work wife."

M was not lying. I was pretty much married to Dietrich. Had to be in order to keep the train moving. Dietrich worked with his right brain whereas I worked with the left; together we climbed mountains.

I put the finishing touches on a message letting him know I was doing the one thing he didn't do enough…have fun, and that having a gripe session wasn't ideal at the time, to list his complaints in the order of relevancy in an email in which I'd deal with tomorrow.

He responded with the middle finger emoji. Ah, love him.

Suddenly M shrieked.

I tucked my phone away. "What the hell's matter with you?"

She was trying not to point but was pointing. "Do you know who that is?"

That was another thing about M that took some getting used to. Her no chill levels of excitability. It didn't take much to set her off.

Yet I humored her.

At first I saw nothing but a horde of people. Maybe horde was too generous, but there were at least seven people who just walked through the front door and passed our table. Not one of them was recognizable. The latest patrons paused, two of them shifted aside and I gulped.

 _Him._

I…oh…this was…

I thought perhaps I'd grown some type of immunity, but from my own inability not to gape it was clear something about him snared me and refused to let go.

We had one encounter since his birthday. On the elevator which I was beginning to revere as our spot. He was going down, dressed in a ribbed tank and sweats, holding a gym bag. He nodded as I boarded but said nothing else as the elevator eased to the fourth floor. His arm very narrowly grazed mine as he stepped out, and that had been the end of it. No backwards glance, no have a nice day. His silence had been a vacuum.

My throat mysteriously grew dry, but I swallowed and replied nonchalantly, "Yeah, I-I do. He lives in my apartment building."

"Wait what? _Damon_ Salvatore is your neighbor?" M's voice went higher in decibel.

"Yeah, so who is he?"

M was positively offended I didn't know whoever that man was. Her face was flushed as she informed, "Only the best defenseman of the Vancouver Canucks! He's retired now after suffering a career ending injury. But he turned his bit of bad luck into solid gold by developing some sort of protective gear piece to prevent the kind of injury he had. And now it's pretty much used by everyone who plays hockey. And you two share the same address and I didn't know! Unbelievable," she slumped against the booth.

From the size and opulence of his home, I knew he had to be a big-wig of some sort. Former hockey player turned inventor…I could see it. He had that intimidating air about him down pact.

"I knew none of that before," I argued in my defense. "His penthouse is nice."

M's eyes bulged. "You've been to his place?! What's it like? What's _he_ like?"

"Intense."

"I figured. Dude rarely smiled as he tore down the ice and checked dudes right from left. The way he moved bordered on supernatural. You gotta give me more, Bon. More!"

"There's not much else to tell. I was being a good neighbor and promptly left."

I should drop any and all talk about Damon Salvatore. Shouldn't entertain thoughts of pumping M for more information, information I could gather doing a Google search. But seeing him standing in the midst of his admirers, rosy cheeked, and commanding without having to raise his voice to be heard since everyone was hanging on to his every word…the smart thing to do would be to ignore him. Pretend he wasn't here.

That was impossible though. Doubly when he removed his jacket. His shirt looked like it was straining to keep his torso covered. The sight made my heart pound.

Damon kissed cheeks, doled out elaborate handshakes. He was solicited for selfies and pleaded with for his John Hancock.

The latter I kind of knew what it was like.

Damon commandeered a spot at the end of the bar, far away from where I was. The horde gave him not an inch of breathing room, but he didn't complain or looked put out.

I looked at the people who were drawn to him. The guys were ordinary. After a pint or two they might be cute. There were quite a few women who were beautiful but not exactly striking. Five blondes of the same height and shape, nearly cookie cutter, two brunettes, and a single redhead, who by her confident stature, was used to getting anyone she wanted. She was the one who stood out the most, tossing her long hair to one side without making it seem like that's what she was doing. She flashed her dimples as bait. Out of those surrounding him, Damon looked at her the most.

Without warning he was looking right at me.

"Ohmygod he just looked at you!" M ducked behind her hair, blushed. "Is he still looking?"

Her question went in one ear and out the other.

For twenty seconds it was he and I and no one else. I swore his chest was rising and falling in time with mine. Every bit of me was aware of him and I wondered if it were the same for him. Then it was over. He was back to being everyone's hero.

The abruptness left me in a state of vertigo.

"You should ask him to join us," my petite friend nudged me. "I'm sure he wouldn't turn you down. You're practically besties."

After the way I fled his apartment without so much as a goodbye, and the fact we were strangers that was a stretch.

"I won't be doing that," I shook my head. "He's busy and I'm busy."

"Hmm, he seems to like the redhead," M observed. I peeked and sure enough the redhead had sidled next to him. "Think I have a shot?"

"Go for it," I wasn't going to stop M's shine.

Though there was a tiny piece of me that was irrationally territorial where Damon was concerned, which concerned me.

I was knocked me out of the moment when a pair of lips smacked my cheek, "Hey."

My head shot up and our third wheel rounded the table and slid into the booth. "You finally made it."

"Would have been here sooner if I didn't get tied up with work. Hey M."

"Hi," she nearly whispered.

I volleyed between Avan Borgia, Tyler's frat brother and my neighbor whose once passive features. He was looking at me again. His brow had flattened and he was definitely frowning.

I poured my all into looking strictly at Avan's dark brown eyes and not the blue ones from across the room, but it was really no use. I did manage to pick up on the fact my chatterbox of a friend, M had gone quiet. Her usual response when around Avan who she was crushing on _hard_.

Avan was stunning. His Spanish-Lebanese blood gave him the kind of face that was a dichotomy of adolescence and refinement. He was of average height, carried a slim build, yet it made him no less appealing. Speaking three languages didn't hurt either.

"What did I miss?" he asked.

"Not much," M shockingly piped in. "We haven't hit the dance floor yet and neither one of us is intoxicated."

Avan plucked the drink menu from the condiment carafe. "I'm glad because I hate thinking of you two getting sloshed with no one to keep the predators at bay."

"That's not the best part," M's words were starting to slur together. Those shots were kicking in. "We have a celebrity in the house. Damon Salvatore."

"Really?" Avan turned all the way around. Like most, if not all Canadians, he was a hockey enthusiast. "Damn."

"Get this…he's Bonnie's neighbor and she's been to his place," she snickered giddily.

Avan refaced us and his delighted façade clouded with suspicion. "Is that so?"

"Don't start," I warned with a raised brow. "I was roped into dropping off this dish to his penthouse by an elderly neighbor. I didn't stay long." I wouldn't tell him about knowing the possible length Damon was working with either. Nor would I say anything about the anonymous letters. I loved Avan, but in Tyler's absence he designated himself as my human chastity belt.

"You talked to Tyler lately?" he asked, right on cue.

"Yesterday but only for a few minutes. This working in separate countries shit is for the birds. When I'm up, he's asleep. When he's awake, I'm asleep."

"You still plan to go see him next month, right? You guys have to stay connected."

I breathed heavily. "If no crisis arises then yep, that's the plan."

"Excited?" Avan prodded.

"As a virgin on her wedding night."

M cackled whereas Avan snorted, possibly detecting my sarcasm. He flagged down a server to order a drink.

With him distracted and M trying not to broadcast she was just two drinks shy from being drunk, I let my gaze wander to and fro.

Fortunately I never found the one I shouldn't be searching for.

* * *

We moved the party from the booth to the dance floor. For thirty minutes I found myself in the music. The typical saying was lose yourself in the music, but no I found the person I aspired to be when the right beat, tempo, and lyrics played.

Once the heat became too much, when my dance partner kept trying to cop a feel of my tits, I gave him a stinging slap on the arm and yelled, "Asshole, I need a breather."

Don't know if he heard the 'asshole' part or not, but he nodded and bent his knees to say in my ear, "Don't forget about me."

He was a distant memory the second I wove through the other gyrating bodies, pausing as I spotted Avan and M bouncing around. With a smile on my face I quickly exited through the front entrance breathing in the chilly Vancouver air. It felt good against my skin even if it immediately pimpled into goosebumps, nipples too.

"You ran out on me…Bonnie."

My head snapped to the left. There he stood against the brick wall, unlit cigarette in his hand. He flicked a lighter open but closed it just as quickly.

"That wasn't very nice," he chastised, staring beneath dark lashes.

Talk, Bonnie. "Sorry."

"I was hoping to share my tetrazzini with you."

"How was it?"

"Perfect. I only eat the best."

My lips twitched and so did his.

"That guy with you…he's the fiancé?"

Abrupt, straight out of the gate with no warm up, I see. "No, he's just a close friend." And why do you care? "If he was my fiancé…?"

Damon pushed from the wall and sauntered closer with slow deliberate steps. Like did on his birthday. He stopped right in front of me. "I'd tell him congratulations."

"You would?"

"I can concede graciously when I need to," he was fighting off a smirk.

"I'll bet," I spied the cigarette still in his hand. "Are you going to smoke that to keep warm? It's cold tonight." Not that I felt it much anymore.

Damon shrugged a brawny shoulder, "I haven't decided."

"What's stopping you?"

"It's a habit. An old one," he tapped the cigarette on the palm of his hand. "Something triggered the urge to smoke."

Urges and triggers, I knew them very well. This sparked an idea, really an excuse to keep him around, keep talking though that could be dangerous.

"Is that the only one you have?" I questioned.

"No, I have a pack in my coat."

"Go inside and bring it to me."

Damon squinted possibly trying to discern my angle.

"I'll take this," I plucked the cigarette out of his hand, broke it in half, dropped it on the ground, and smashed it with my pump.

From the muscle pulsing in his jaw, he was grinding his molars together. He would either curse me out for destroying his precious nicotine dick, or he'd do what I told him to do.

"Hurry up and bring me what I want."

"If I don't?" he folded his massive arms.

"If you don't…the next time Miss Josephine prepares you a meal and uses me to deliver it, I'll eat it and tell you how good it was."

He stared at me searchingly for what felt like hours. "Wait here."

Damon left and came back with the pack that he handed to me plus his lighter. I opened the pack which was pretty much full, but said:

"I don't need to frisk you to make sure you haven't smuggled any for later, do I?"

He snorted and shook his head. "I'm clean."

I pulled out a butt remembering old times. Wedging it between my lips I tossed the pack into a nearby trash can. Flicking the lighter, I covered the flame, lit the end, inhaled.

"You smoke?" Damon seemed startled.

"Recreationally but I quit years ago. I'm just feeling a little nostalgic," I murmured quietly and gauged his reaction through the thin cloud of gray smoke. Hungry was the best way to describe it. I shuttered my eyes against it and centered on the familiar scorching burn, the acidly addictive taste that filled my mouth and lungs.

When I opened my eyes, Damon was still watching.

He licked his lips, nostrils flared as he breathed in the smoke. I held the butt up to him and, lightly cupping my hand, he drew it closer. His lips brushed my fingers as he sucked on the filtered end and inhaled.

If I heard things properly he groaned just a little.

"I missed this," he rasped.

As Damon blew out, I took another hit, "One more for the road and that's it. We're stopping."

He was ready to argue but he conceded. "Yes, ma'am."

I took my turn and he never shifted restlessly or gave his attention to anything besides me. Damon eagerly leaned forward as I held it up for his last and final drag of nicotine. His head fell back and he puckered his lips. Little O's floated from his mouth.

"You look like a chug boat."

He choked a laugh, expelling the rest of the smoke from his nose.

"There you are," that feminine voice was like a needle on vinyl.

It was the redhead from earlier. She all but ignored me though she did the scan and dismiss as if I were truly unimportant and a non-factor.

"I wanted to buy you another round. If you're interested."

And that was my cue to leave. Only, Damon's arm shot out. His hand was on my stomach. Heat. The temperature of his palm made heat flare low in my abdomen. Our heads turned toward one another.

"Can I get your number?" I raised a brow at his presumptuousness. He explained, "I know we can't be more than friends."

"You want to be friends?" I sounded a little too breathless for my own good.

"Why not?"

"We don't know each other."

"Hence the reason for exchanging numbers so we _can_ get to know each other," his fingers pressed into my stomach. I squelched making any kind of noise. Being touched where he was touching me was one of my spots.

"I'm engaged."

"Well aware of that. You're already in love so you know there's nothing that can happen besides friendship."

"I see I've interrupted something," Red sniffed but made no tracks to retreat inside the bar.

I continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And that's all you want? Friendship?"

"Yeah. Unless that ring is just for show to keep people from hitting on you," his gaze glinted. "If not, what do you have to lose?"

Everything.

I shouldn't be negotiating exchanging numbers with a man that I was, let's be real, very much attracted to. It would be character suicide if I gave him the means to contact me at whim. If the situation was reversed I wouldn't want Tyler talking to a chick that had him delving into a habit he cut ties with a long time ago. I wouldn't want him to talk to someone who made him nervous, jittery, or greedy for a touch or an encounter.

Sliding my hand atop Damon's, our fingers laced together for two seconds before I removed his hand. "Sometimes it's best not to play with fire even if it's nothing bigger than a flame. Goodnight…Damon."

 **A/N: *Edited 4/14/17* If you're reading this again, I took out the beginning that was italicized. It was supposed to be a story within a story but I'm scraping the idea because this storyline is already complicated enough. *Original A/N* If any are curious as to who I'm drawing inspiration from when it comes to Avan Borgia, yep I'm using Avan Jorgia. I know I wasn't that creative with the name but nothing else really fit. Anyways, I hope you liked it. Please show your love in the comments. Until next time. XOXO.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I wrote, rewrote, wrote again, got stuck, wrote some more. Finally something publishable came to together. Enjoy, kittens.**

* * *

I was going through a type of cultural schizophrenia. You see, when I'm in Canada I felt American and when I'm in America I felt Canadian. Charles Lindbergh once said, "We Americans are a primitive people. We do not have discipline. Our moral standards are low." Having standards came down to individuality. What could be viewed as a low bar for some was high for others and vice versa.

We could attempt to exercise discipline often and in all things, but sometimes a little impulsivity and self-indulgence was needed for survival.

My point though, I was feeling oddly out of place as my plane touched down at O'Hare International in Chicago, Illinois. I've been to this hub half a dozen times, yet today inexplicably felt as if it were my first. The deluge of people easily swallowed me, and I was no more substantial than a fluff of dandelion as I sped to the next terminal only come to find my connecting flight was delayed.

The one kind of delay I could tolerate was a delay in gratification.

Sulking, I checked in with Dietrich who was at the sister sight of our latest project. Since we had been unable to obtain filming permits at our first choice, a small town in Delaware, things were moved to Port Deposit, Maryland; a locale that was discovered purely by accident. Dietrich and the film's director, Sheldon Reese was able to bury the rusted hatchet between them to work amicably. How? With the use of production assistants delivering messages back and forth since they refused to speak to one another face to face.

Don't you love it when grown men act their age?

It was time that the top dog, yours truly, swept on the scene to bridge the gap so that production wouldn't be delayed, tacking on additional costs.

Dietrich didn't answer so I left him a message and a wild guess as to my estimated time of arrival. I also called Sheldon, but spoke with his assistant relaying the same info. With that out of the way I still had an uncertain amount of time to kill.

I people watched for a moment taking in their style of dress, dialect, how they interacted with the airline staff and other customers. There were some smiling faces, others who were clearly tired and frustrated, and others who had mistaken themselves for celebrities. There were overworked TSA workers who were past done with the redundancy of their jobs, and those a bit too zealous for some customers liking.

I couldn't stay stationary like this forever. I hadn't brought along enough distractions. Already finished the novel I packed, listened to my favorite songs so many times that I was beginning to hate them, and wasn't in the mood to troll Twitter.

Stranded in an airport, a traveler's nightmare. Yes, I understood there were worse fates than simply being stranded when traveling by air.

To pass the time I went to the United Club since I had a membership. Without one it cost fifty bucks to get in.

A hostess appeared; pleasant beauty with a pleasant smile. "Hi, would you like a table?"

"No, I'll have a seat at the bar. Thank you."

"Enjoy."

Someone interesting always sat at the bar.

Rewind to the time of my days being a talent recruiter before becoming a still photographer for an aging writer/producer/director. As a talent recruiter my approach was different, subtle like smoke that you could smell long before you saw. I hit the clubs and restaurants looking specifically for a particular look or vibe and tailored a back story to essentially become a fantasy for my mark. Folks were more willing to listen if they believed you weren't trying to sell them something.

By the end of our conversation they either wanted to come in for a reading of their own accord, after I divulged what I did, or they wanted a date. Depending on my mood I had been amendable to the latter, but not always.

The line wasn't incongruent between realism and make-believe for one who had too open a mind.

Eyeing my prospects, the pickings were plenteous; however, no one struck me just yet.

Today I could be French-Canadian or an American learning French, or simply just French. Was it dishonest and false advertisement possibly bordering on appropriation? We could argue about that for days.

I knew enough French to hold a conversation, was told I had a believable accent. Besides it's been a _long_ time since I've gotten to play. My parents expected me to be serious now that I was a bona fide business owner, and my fiancé—well the unspoken agreement was we'd forsake others for each other. You could take the girl out of the country but not the country out of the girl, and other such colloquialisms. There was no such visible boundary separating you from how you used to be apart from the one erected in your mind, lived in your heart, and demonstrated by your actions.

I said all of that to say, I missed the old me.

Another thought pinged. Perhaps I could pretend to be the person who sent me those letters. I had received another one that I deliberately left unopened in my apartment. I still hadn't told my therapist Camille about that, curious to see if they'd taper off or keep going until…until who knows what. Besides, she would just want to know how they made me feel and what it led to. That was more than obvious. Skype sex and sexting with Tyler.

Being as short as I was I couldn't really see the people hunched over their drinks at the bar, but weaving through the crowd they came into view.

I wedged myself between a guy who needed a shower and a shave and the other who kind of resembled Top Chef judge Tom Colicchio. He regarded me with a nod as he sipped something brown. Probably bourbon or scotch.

His eyes were on me as I settled on the stool and placed my purse on my lap.

" _Excusez-moi, il est bondé ici_."

Heavy-lidded glassy orbs expanded at the sound of my voice.

"Pardon…Sorry," I giggled like I was half my age. "Coming in from Canada. Takes a while for me to remember…"

"You don't have to explain. That was sexy."

Insert blush and downcast eyes.

The man had a New England accent and smelled of Karl Lagerfeld cologne. He wore a Timex watch and his right ear was pierced.

"Layover or delayed flight?" he broke the ice. Glassy blue eyes assessed me in an appreciative way that made me feel flattered and on guard unanimously.

"Delayed flight that I'm hoping won't turn into a cancellation," I infuse a bit of truth. "You?"

"Layover. Okinawa awaits," he stretched out a hand, a gold band on his middle finger. "Rob Hudson."

Rob's fingers were thick, his touch warm as it enclosed my hand. He scooted on his high chair to give me more room. The space was cramped, intimate, for a reason.

Gauging him I tailored the scene in my mind. Being sensual was second nature, being demure took work for me, but I was sure I could pull it off.

So I went about it by dodging giving my name thankful the bartender slid in front of me, welcoming smile, too cute for words. However, I made sure the expression on my face couldn't read that I was pleased by his aesthetics. I ordered a Manhattan in a soft voice. Rob had yet to let my hand go.

"You can put it on my tab, Noah," Rob said to the barkeep.

"Oh, no," I tugged my hand free, "that's okay."

"I insist," Rob nodded and Noah went to work creating my drink. "They serve food here if you're hungry."

"The drink will be fine. For now. Thank you," I demurred.

"My pleasure…miss…?" Rob trailed off waiting for me to name drop.

"Are you really that interested in what my parents call me?" I angled more toward him aware that the man seated to my right was clearly eavesdropping, and trying to sniff my hair. Piss off, dude.

Rob grinned crookedly, drank some more. He tapped his empty glass on the bar top. Another bartender hit him with a refill.

"You don't want to give me your name it will only force me to make one up."

"Help yourself. I've been called lots of things."

Those glassy blues looked me over again at a leisurely pace. What I was wearing was the least bit provocative, but my undies and bra were from La Perla. And if I didn't know any better I would think that he knew.

My drink arrived interrupting his scrutiny that I must admit was beginning to have a margin of an effect on me. Rob physically was not my type, but he did exude a type of presence I found sexy though it would be hard to explain what exactly made him sexy.

" _Merci_ ," I said to the bartender, holding his gaze for a tenth of a second as I wrapped my lips around the rim of the glass. Canadian whiskey, sweet vermouth, and other flavors coursed down my throat, warmed my belly.

"I think I'll call you Mademoiselle Manhattan," Rob grunted and tossed back his shot.

"I like it."

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" Rob tried to entice me to test his generosity. "They make a delicious filet mignon."

"I'm fine, really thank you," pause. "In just these five minutes you've been nicer to me than... never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing. Ask me something to take my mind off things. _Please_ ," I pled like I was on the verge of tears.

A notable change happened. Rob was no longer slouching. It was like he had pulled apart his button down to reveal the red 'S' on his chest. He sensed a damsel in distress and was off to the rescue.

"You okay?" the pitch of his tone softened. I nodded and drank. "So what do you do, Mademoiselle Manhattan?"

Slanting Rob with a sidelong glance I toyed with the stem of the martini glass. "If I tell you, you'll probably judge me."

"I won't."

"That's what they say, 'I don't judge' but they do. Consciously, unconsciously. _He_ certainly did."

Rob leaned in, greedy for details because nothing was more entertaining than hearing or watching someone's life fall apart. "Give me his name and address so I can knock his gotdamn teeth in."

That earned genuine laughter from me.

Amid the buzz of conversations, a couple arguing, someone else trying to negotiate sex, beyond that I heard a distinctive voice. It was amazing how your other senses could magnify to pick up the slack of one that's disabled. I had no better explanation for how I could hear his voice, specifically, among the range of voices bleating around me. But I did.

"…there was no miscommunication on my end. I made myself _perfectly_ clear. If that's what you took away…Yeah? Well fuck you, too."

Slowly, I rotated on the stool.

* * *

My peace was shattered as was the embargo on my unflappability.

He sat in a corner near the entrance under low lighting. But there was no cloaking those features. His head was angled as he fired up a cigarette.

"—Mademoiselle Manhattan?" I vaguely heard Rob say.

This dude _was_ Future Simon popping up in places where I was. I had no superpower that attracted danger or made anyone I touched manic with lust, yet here he was in this bustling airport in this dark bar. What the fuck?

What he was doing—smoking—didn't bypass my notice either.

I _loathed_ being disobeyed.

As if sensing my disapproval, his gaze jerked away from the butt in his mouth and pierced me.

Guilt and defiance waged war and Damon Salvatore affected a cool expression I was sure could stop a heart.

Rising from the stool my intentions were clear. Rob lightly touched my wrist. Just that quickly I had forgotten all about him.

"It was nice meeting you, Rob but I have to go. Have a safe flight to Okinawa."

Abandoning him, I crossed the parquet floor to Damon. I knew how this probably looked to Rob once he got a good glance at Damon. A pretty woman dumping him for a younger and sleeker model. I could have easily told Rob I was going to say hello to a neighbor, but it wasn't any of his business, and I showed him enough gratitude for the drink. Then again, he might think Damon was the man I had alluded to who gave me problems. He did, but not the made up one I conjured to go with my unscripted teleplay.

When I came to a stop on the opposite side of the table from Damon, I could actually hear him sucking in air and slowly releasing it.

He sat back, extending his right arm along the back of the chair he pulled adjacent to him. Tiny yet visible black whiskers covered his jaw and mouth in a five o'clock shadow. Coupled with his raven tresses that were short in the back and sides, longer in the front, Damon was a rugged yet succulent mess inviting you to climb on his lap, straddle him.

Why were athletes even ones that were retired so fucking hot?

My pulse beat everywhere and as I zeroed in on his jugular, his pulse was beating just as fast as mine.

We were on one accord.

"You've broken my rule." The airline's as well. You couldn't smoke in their facility. I eyed the butt in his hand, the curling smoke. "I hate that. I'm disappointed in you, Damon."

His glacial irises glinted, he scowled. "I would care if I was seeking the approval of a complete _fucking_ stranger."

Ouch. Guess someone was still smarting over my refusal to cough up my number.

I wasn't a masochist so I wouldn't linger in hopes he'd stop being mean and talk to me like a civilized adult. Curling my fingers along the strap of my handbag, I made a step toward the exit.

"Wait!" Damon practically jumped out of his seat. "Wait. I'm sorry. That was rude." He flicked the cigarette in the unfinished drink on his table.

"Yeah that was rude."

Damon rounded the Cherrywood table and pulled out the chair I had been standing behind. "Join me. Please."

I refused to take him up on his offer, refused to acknowledge that I absolutely wanted to.

He must have gotten that message and changed the topic. "Where are you flying to?"

I have no idea why I told him. It just came out. "This little place called Port Deposit. It's in Maryland. After that, I'm on a flight to Germany."

"Germany? I've been there a few times."

"How'd you like it?"

"My time there…wasn't as debauched as I wanted it to be," he grinned.

It was a grin I didn't return. "Where are you going?" I inquired.

"Cambridge, Massachusetts for a charity hockey game," he stared at me. "I used to play."

I fought off smiling this time, "Were you any good?"

Damon shrugged. "I was all right."

"I would think making it to the pros meant you were better than all right."

His dark brows went airborne. "You know I was a pro player?"

"I was made aware that night at the bar."

Damon grew quiet. "I still think about that even when I know I shouldn't. I can't even look at a pack of cigarettes without thinking about it."

"So why did I catch you smoking?"

His eyes went half-mast. The veil was down. Whoever he had been talking to on the phone was probably the reason he delved into cancer-causing behavior, breaking our vow to never smoke again. Now I was intrigued and I'm sure my body language was saying that.

"Stress," Damon said after a thoughtful pause yet the answer was evasive at best.

Uh-oh, he had attracted attention. A few people tried to inconspicuously circle with their phones in front of their faces. Damon was oblivious to it, built up his immunity to the stops and stares, finger pointing, whispering. No one had been brave enough to approach, but all it would take was one enthusiastic fan who wouldn't be denied and then the locusts would swarm.

This famed ice hockey player pulled me to a quiet corner, angling his body in such a way that if you were looking at him from the back you wouldn't be able to see me. I thought of how we looked, framed it in my mind. The height difference, the contrast of how the light reflected off his skin but was absorbed into mine.

"I'm here in Chicago for a couple of days before taking off to Cambridge. Meetings, bureaucratic stuff."

He downplayed the significance of him being in Chicago but I could read between the lines. Damon was here for work to expand his empire. Playing coy was unnecessary because in one way or another we all did the same—expansion of our empire, I mean. Whether it was corporate, self-destructive, entrepreneurial, medical, what have you, we were stewards and bosses. The difference in success was being aware of it. Owning it.

"You're telling me this because…?"

Damon shuffled from foot to foot and then grew incredibly still. "This is our fifth encounter, the second that's taken place outside of our residence. We're not in the same country. What are the odds of running into each other at an airport? I know how this looks."

"Like you're stalking me."

The sound of Damon's laughter was the kind that rippled across your skin. "I could accuse you of the same thing. I lived in our building long before you. It was you who crashed into me…"

My cheeks heated. "Can we never mention that particular episode again?"

"I thought it was memorable. It was you who showed up at my door bearing food."

"Yeah, yeah."

Damon bit into his top lip, giving me they eyes. "How much longer are we going to ignore fate?"

Fate. I wonder if she also went by the name of Miss Josephine.

"Maybe I'm happy with living in denial," I shrugged a shoulder.

"That's funny because I didn't take you for someone who cowered."

My nostrils flared and my hand twitched. "I don't," I stated brusquely.

"I didn't think you did."

"Yeah, because you know me so well."

"I don't know you at all. I like what I've _seen_."

For one harrowing moment I almost asked Damon: Can you see me better than Tyler can? I cast that thought down.

"On that note, I need to check to see if my flight is still delayed or cancelled."

"This is fate, Bonnie, you and I both know you're not going anywhere. At least not until tomorrow."

Dang it I hate when people I'm attracted to are right.

My flight was grounded which meant I had to reschedule for the following day. Luck was on my side as I no longer had to be diverted to Charlotte—as originally planned—before heading to BWI in Baltimore. I was on a nonstop flight heading out at 7 a.m.

Now I needed lodgings.

Damon was a bit too pleased with himself. "I'm staying at a friend's condo. You can crash with me. I promise to keep it strictly business. Platonic."

Doubt was mortar to my obstinate brick. "Strictly business and platonic?"

He crossed his heart and stretched out his hand. "I'm a man of my word. Just business."

Destroying souls was business to the devil as well.

* * *

Damon drove like Usain Bolt out of O'Hare.

He kept it business as promised letting music serve as conversation.

The condo was clean, modern, industrial bordering on institutional. It would be hailed as one of the best decorated places in some interior design magazine mostly because of its view and location.

I was shown to the spare bedroom that was downstairs. The master suite was a level above. After plugging in my charger I stashed my switchblade beneath the pillow. I never traveled without it. Locking the door I took a shower and donned some lounging attire. By the time my grooming was done and had a quick confab with Dietrich, I found Damon handing money to a delivery man. I smelled Thai.

I should be alarmed by how comfortable I felt. We were strangers far from home enjoying the creature comforts of someone else's pad. I should be cranky and tired that my trip had been extended, but no. I was too much like a child with a new toy ready to be entertained.

As a distraction, I perused the books on a built-in shelf while he arranged plates, silverware, and glasses on the dining room table. Damon was meticulous. Something about his movements reminded me of my waiter from a few weeks back. Adroit fluidity with a careful eye for detail; every part of his being in tune with the task at hand. Damon even went so far as to light the candles on the table. He finally took notice of me, blew out the match. He crooked a finger.

"You're going above and beyond when it comes to hospitality," I commented and sank into the chair he pulled out for me.

Damon smirked, lingered behind me, his mouth almost at my ear. "I hope you're enjoying it."

I was and smiled. "Thank you for this and for letting me crash."

"Of course. What are neighbors for?"

I eyed the table, how everything was perfect. "So, you took etiquette classes?"

Damon sat down at my nine o'clock after filing our glasses with wine, "My grandmother raised me not wolves. Well, I take that back. My father certainly was a mutt."

I laughed a little, curious about his upbringing, what that must have been like. I didn't go there.

"But it's interesting…that saying 'raised by wolves'," I reached for the honey ginger duck. "Wolves are pack and family oriented. They hunt together, live together, protect one another's young. Some humans can't do that."

Damon conceded with a nod as he spooned Pad Thai on his plate. "How right you are."

We piled our plates, took that first bite, savored the taste.

"So your father is a mutt…what does that make you?" I asked.

"Mutt Jr. I don't come from nobility in any sense of the word." There was an overtone of darkness I heard in his voice that flashed across his face. It was gone when he looked at me. "What about you?"

"Strict, rigid, boogie until I got in touch with another side of my psyche."

Damon picked up his glass, took a sip. "Do tell," he resumed eating.

I stared at him a moment, rubbing my index finger beneath the rim of my lip. Damon paused in mid-chew, watched. "We don't know each other that well for me to tell you that. That's info earned, not given."

His right eyebrow went on a hike. "How is it earned?" his voice took on a graveled quality.

Placing my elbows on the table I leaned forward. Damon mimicked me. His face…ridiculous with its symmetry. "Patience. Surrender. Trust."

His throat worked as he swallowed. I don't know why I found that sexy. "Surrender? Surrender what?"

"That's for me to determine."

"And for me to comply?"

"Now you're getting it." I sipped my Moscato and switched topics. "Do you miss playing hockey?"

Damon easily rolled with the punches. "Yes and no. It takes a toll on the body but I loved the adrenaline and god-like high it gave me. Ever seen a game?"

"Never."

"Know how to skate?" Damon forked Pad Pak Boong into his mouth.

"I've only been ice skating a few times. I'm not very good at it."

"I could teach you," he offered.

"I'll think about it."

"You know what I used to do for a living. What do you do?"

I told Damon what I didn't tell Rob, went into detail, even leaked the latest script I was interested in producing, a psychosexual thriller. A majority of what my company pumped out so far delved into the condition of black women. As it says in the good book: the harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few. My target demographic ached for movies where black women were the center; however finding studios willing to produce and create such films was few. So I took matters into my own hands and started my own production company.

Damon nodded, seemingly impressed.

We lapsed into silence to eat. This was my first time in a long time eating with a man I wasn't trying to canoodle to invest funds in my company, related to me, an associate, or Tyler. It was odd and had all of the makings of a first date. I waited for the pang of guilt that I was dishonoring my fiance to jerk me out of the chair, push me into the room to collect my things, and shove me outside the door. It never came. I rationalized it as we were wont to do when our conscience became uncomfortable. My being here wasn't due to ulterior motives, to start an illicit affair. I was here for one night under the grace of someone's hospitality. The end.

I promptly drained my wine and Damon promptly refilled it without question. I suspected he found pleasure in serving a woman.

I thought back to right before we left the airport. We had been standing on the curb waiting for the right time to cross to the parking lot to collect the rental. He had braced his arm in front of me like a guard rail as a few cars drove by, and then lightly placed his hand on the dip of my spine as we continued onward. Damon had opened the passenger side door for me, stored my things in the trunk, and waited until I was buckled in before peeling off.

Either he was courteous by rigorous training, or he was simply trying to impress me, it was too early to tell. But I knew one thing, I liked it.

I blurted, "Why are you single?"

Damon snorted and gave me a look I couldn't read. "Who said I was?"

Good comeback. "So there's been a Mrs. Damon Salvatore all along?"

"Yeah," he muttered dryly. "In a coffin maybe."

Okay.

"I'm single," Damon said. "Have been for a while."

"By choice?"

"Involuntarily. Work keeps me busy, but what I want…that's been harder to find."

I wouldn't ask him what he wanted because he told me that on his birthday. Plus, there was no telling where that conversation might go if I were to broach it again.

"How's your food?" I asked after a brief respite.

"Delicious."

"Is there any dessert?"

"There's more wine and a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts."

I wiggled in pleasure. "Yum. A man after my own heart," I replied cheekily.

Damon fell back against his chair, twirled his fork but didn't shovel anything past his teeth. He looked almost sullen. The speed of his mood change was a red flag.

"What?" I said.

"I should want tomorrow to come," his gaze shifted toward me. "I don't."

"Damon…"

He lifted a hand, sat up straight. "Never mind. I'm tired and quite possibly drunk. I need some air."

Damon left the table and stepped out on the patio. I had no idea what was going on with him. I gave him a ten minute reprieve, and when he didn't return to finish his meal, I joined him on the terrace. The earlier humidity had settled to a less stifling haze, but it was there nonetheless as a precursor that summer started in two days.

Coming to stand beside him, I lightly touched his arm. Damon didn't jump or flinch. He actually melted into my touch. Slowly he peered at me from orbs that were once again at half-mast. It was weird but I knew if I draped a hand over his heart right this second its beat would match mine.

Unconsciously we aligned our bodies toward one another. With Tyler I never had to lift my chin that much to be able to look him in the eye. With Damon, my head was tilted at a near hundred and eighty degree angle.

He grazed my cheek with his knuckles, "I want to say something but I don't know if I should."

"Say it."

Damon waited a beat. "Tell me to stop wanting you."

My stomach flipped. "Stop wanting me."

" _Say it_ like you mean it."

"St…"

"Goodnight, Bonnie," Damon cut me off and left abruptly once again.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter and for reviewing last chapter. Let me know how you feel about this one. Please. With a cherry and chocolate and Damon on top.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: My intent was to get this out sooner but the janky weather left me under the weather. Thank you, loves for the reviews!**

* * *

We were staying at a country estate that belonged to my fiancé's supervisor in Lindau, Bavaria for the weekend. The town itself was a stone's throw from the Swiss-Austrian borders accessed by boat and had a shit ton of medieval architecture. It was porn for him and an escape for me. Three floors, five bedrooms, four and a half baths, and a kitchen with copper amenities it was better than any hotel we could have booked last minute.

Nevertheless, a dull hunger ate away at my insides from the time I boarded the international flight, and two days later it still took center stage in my mind. The calories I consumed weren't necessarily empty or even of the nutritious sort, but were a soufflé of Tyler's boyish grins and nibbling kisses.

For once he was _there_ , in the moment with me.

Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" woke me out of a dream, a recurring one I had that prompted me to shower longer than my usual ten minutes. I stretched my arms and toes, arched my back, and pushed the plush duvet to my waist. Blearily I looked around. The spot next to me was empty, the sheets cold. For a second I surveyed the tapestries on the walls, and listened for movement just beyond the closed door of the guest suite. It was quiet.

Laid out on a French provincial armchair was my pale pink robe, slippers tucked underneath. A fresh bouquet of roses sat on the table next to the bed. The blooming buds were rosy pink and smelled of lush grass and rain. The final thing I spied was a steaming cup of Earl Grey.

Tyler appeared in the threshold that led to the in-suite bathroom. He wore nothing but his boxers and a smile as he dried his hands with a towel.

"You look delicious," he flicked the towel blindly into the bathroom.

I sat back up against the padded floral headboard, smiling sleepily in pleasure.

Things hadn't been this romantic fairytale from the moment our worlds collided in Dusseldorf.

The ride from the airport to his apartment had been rife with innuendo, teasing touches that stroked the flames that I couldn't bear not to feel him pulse and throb in my hand. I had fondled Tyler through his pants, but he had enough control not to crash or swerve…too much.

Coming face to face with Tyler, who these past few months I saw through a touchscreen or monitor, I was reminded he had dimension, layers that failed to translate though pixels. He was flesh and he was hot-blooded, and I couldn't resist wrapping my legs around him nor burying my tongue down his throat.

It had been on.

We had barely made it inside his apartment. Our first fuck nearly happened right there in the doorway. The second time was on his couch with me straddling him and riding him to an aneurysm. The third time on his kitchen table.

We finally made it to the bed for our fourth.

This was nothing unusual. We were insatiable, sexually compatible with some to spare.

As we collected our breath, he sprung the idea on me to drive five hours to Lindau to take up his supervisor's offer to stay at her country house. Free of charge. A kickback, she'd be there, of course but promised to stay out of the way.

"She trusts you that much to invite you to her home for the weekend?" I was a skeptic.

Tyler cupped my cheek and kissed me, "Don't I have a face that screams 'trust me'?"

I was worried about Adelaide Kohler's motives but meeting her—a happily divorced grandmother of six, my fears washed away.

In four strides Tyler was across the room and at the foot of the bed. He reached for my ankle and pulled. I giggled but those giggles were cut short as he fell on top of me, not exactly smothering me. He held himself suspended by his knuckles that dug into the pillow top mattress.

Conscious of my morning breath I covered my mouth. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason. I can't look at you now?"

"Of course, but you…never mind."

"What?"

"My bladder is crying, Ty. Let me up."

He guided me to the bathroom where he ran the bath as I relieved myself. Throwing me furtive looks I wondered what the hell was going through his brain. The Tyler I knew was far from refined and delicate, but the one I had been talking to, eating and sleeping with during this conjugal visit was a total one-eighty from the norm. It left me feeling off kilter but I couldn't say I didn't like it. I relished the attention.

Hands washed, teeth brushed, my pajamas ended up in pools of fabric around my feet. I saw Tyler's chest expand at my nudity. His eyes were nearly obsidian and grew considerably darker as they roamed over my flesh, stopping pointedly to stare at my hardening nipples.

He was a sight, too. Unblemished, muscular flesh with yellow undertones. A body built for stamina, Levi's, and threadbare shirts that clung enticingly to his pecks and washboard abs. A curved cock that could make me scream loud enough to be heard in the Himalayas.

"Come here, bunny," he crooked a finger. The first time he called me bunny we had been in the tenth grade. It was a nickname that stuck.

Tyler and I had known each other since we were four or five. From daycare to high school we had been associates at best. He was the kid who liked to pick his nose and wipe his boogers on you. I was prim and proper and terrified of getting into trouble. I was the rebellious teen to his meathead jock who threw his family name around to get his way. Then we became college educated professionals. But two years ago something changed between us when we happened to be visiting home at the same time. I think of that weekend often but then lately I hadn't been thinking about it at all.

The German countryside really brought the gentleman out of him as he assisted me into the tub. Warm water sluiced down my back as Tyler soaped me up.

"Every day could be like this," Tyler rationed. "We should get married while you're here. I don't want to wait any longer."

Someone hit a sharp note on a piano somewhere.

My head rotated to the right, "You want to spend our first few months as a married couple, apart?"

"I just want to make it official."

"I'm not going anywhere, Ty. Plus your mother and my father would pay someone to kill or beat the shit out of us. I like breathing without the use of a tube, I'll have you know."

Tyler snickered and refocused on his task. He was quiet for a while but I knew how his mind worked, knew how _he_ worked. He didn't make random statements. Everything he said served some kind of purpose, and he brought up us eloping for a reason, not just because it might be convenient with my being in Germany.

"Is that the only reason you won't marry me while you're here?" he craned his neck to see me better.

"You think there's another reason?"

"You tell me."

His tone wasn't accusatory, but there was an undeniable edge to it. I didn't really possess a jealous bone. The same couldn't be said about Tyler. I felt his need to rush to the altar had more to do with securing me rather than being eager to be my husband.

I threaded my nails through his blunt hair, "Say what's really on your mind. You don't think I can handle us being separated. Are you worried about me being faithful?"

"Do I need to be worried about it?"

"Do I?" I countered.

"No, you don't."

"Then neither do you, Ty."

I may have had my fair share of lovers, length of time notwithstanding I had been loyal to each one.

"Seeing Cami keeps me on the straight and narrow and not just with fidelity."

Tyler grunted. I rolled my eyes and had to stop myself from dunking his head in the tub.

"Still have objections to talk to her?" I snipped.

Tyler handed me the sponge and got to his feet. The space between us—telling. "I just don't see the point in airing out contrived bullshit from our childhood and how any of that is going help us when it comes to marriage." He laid a hand on his chest, "I'm fine and you're fine. It's the world that wants you think something is wrong with you that needs to be fixed."

"There's nothing wrong with seeing flaws in yourself and getting help for them."

"You're right, bunny. But your flaws are one of the things I love about you."

If that didn't sound like a line.

"You know my past and flaws, too," he went on. "I just don't want to open that up to a third party. We can talk about anything else…besides that."

"Are you ashamed?"

Tyler moistened his lips, stared down at his feet before meeting my eyes once again. "Not shamed," he shrugged. "Just private."

I sat against the tub. "I wish you would talk to Cami. She doesn't judge."

My intended nodded but I could see he wasn't buying what I was selling.

He sidled to the tub and lowered to his haunches. "We should pick a date. Everyone keeps asking me when the big day is and it's been three months since I asked you to marry me. I think we've lollygagged enough."

"How long do you think it would take to plan? Some people, it takes them a year and things still manage to fall apart on D-day."

"We should try for next summer. I'm home for good in December and we can plan accordingly."

"Are you sure? What if you do such an amazing job on this project your boss sends you to Dubai or Tokyo next?"

Tyler bit the inside of his cheek, clearly seeing the plausibility behind our worst case scenario. "If it happens we'll…make adjustments. I want you more than anything, bunny. _Nothing_ is going to get in the way of that. So pick a date. Any date you want, even if we go down to the Justice of the Peace. We're going to be Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood."

"Lockwood-Bennett," I bartered.

Tyler snorted and took the sponge from me again. "Bennett-Lockwood and that's my final offer."

"No offer is final until the ink dries."

* * *

Ever watch a man adjust himself in his underwear, cover his flesh with a button down that's tailor made, hugged his torso and contoured his neck just right? Watched him stand in front of a mirror to knot his tie, see him sit on the edge of the bed and tie his shoes?

Watching Tyler get dressed was one of my favorite things to do. And something I earnestly missed. I crawled to the foot of the bed, wrapped my arms around his shoulders. There we were reflected in the mirror cheek to cheek.

He was leaving me for an emergency meeting. So much for our lover's getaway.

"Bunny?"

"Nothing. I just want to look at you." I kissed the corner of his jaw. "Don't make the ladies cream themselves too hard today."

He smiled ruefully, ran a hand down his tie. "Yes, madam. Anything else?"

"Just get back as soon as you can."

Tyler faced me, his hands finding their home on my bottom which he squeezed. "Be a good girl."

Five kisses later, satchel, traveling mug, and phone in hand, Tyler left.

Distraction time.

I settled down at the dining room table with my MacBook, files, scripts and other work paraphernalia. I ignored my palpitating heart, the light dampness of my panties. It wasn't that I was horny exactly, but my body seemed to want to prepare itself prematurely for later.

Around mid-morning, I don't know why, but I downloaded _Simon and Alisha Forever_ , and played it on a continuous loop as I fielded conference call after conference call.

"The set looks beautiful, Olivia…you did a wonderful job dressing it. Send me the dallies."

"Will do, boss."

"Over and out." I crossed another line item from my list, but I wouldn't be able to give you a thorough synopsis of what just happened.

At lunch I grabbed a sandwich and soup the onsite chef had prepared. This whole time I had been stalling, using work as filler for what had been booming in the back of my head.

Chicago. Thai food.

"Damon Salvatore," I logged on to the net and typed in his name.

I told myself I wasn't going to go too deep with this. I would only find out minor information, look at a few pics, and then promptly get back to work. Yeah, okay, we'll see.

What popped up the most about him was related to his hockey career, a few quotes concerning various disasters and the human condition, and rumors about his romantic life. His last high profile public appearances was at the 2013 Espy's where he had been a presenter, and he had attended the funeral of a fallen NFL player.

Naturally I was curious about the women he was attracted to. Lots of images loaded the screen, an overwhelming amount of them featuring the same type over and over again: tall, thin, and brunette. Oh, he was photographed leaving a movie theater with a lovely African American woman who was significantly taller than him. Her name was printed in the caption, Bree Hurston.

None of this led me to any answers about what he said to me in Chicago, the first man to tell me to tell him to stop wanting me. Was he playing a game? Was he sincere? Did he get off in stealing a woman from someone else? Did he really hate the fact that he liked me and I was unavailable?

Biting intermittently on my thumb I tranced out as I stared at this one particular photo of Damon. _Fuck_ , he was photogenic. He was at some event and he was staring right at the camera. It wasn't just sex he exuded that made it difficult to stare at him longer than five seconds. I didn't know what it was, couldn't put a finger on it, but he had it in spades, and dished it out through eyes too blue for their own good.

" _Say it_ like you mean it," I whispered, repeating his last words to me before his abrupt good night.

When dawn had arrived I was packed and had called a cab. Damon, groggy with sleep offered to help with my bags but I turned him down. I couldn't have felt more like Lizzie Bennett refusing Mr. Darcy's proposal. The wounded look on Damon's face hadn't helped matters either.

By the time I unearthed my nose from my laptop screen dusk had fallen and Tyler's voice boomed through the halls. Clicking out of incriminating programs such as Scrabble and Twitter, Tyler rounded the corner into the dining room.

"Hungry?"

I stretched my arms above my head. "I could eat."

We ate scallions, crab, and kale salad. By morning we were on a train headed back to Dusseldorf agreed on a date for our nuptials. August 12, 2017.

The next time I blinked I was saying my goodbyes to Tyler and Europe. My stomach quivered. I couldn't get home fast enough.

* * *

High winds and rain was my welcome back committee. My 4-day stay in Düsseldorf turned into two weeks. No one on my production staff was happy with me about extending my trip, not even when I substituted my physical absence with teleconferencing. My relationship with Tyler, among other things, needed it. Needed that reinforcement because so easily precious things were lost while we were too busy mending other fires.

However, I was eager to return to Vancouver to start pre-production of my company's first psychosexual short thriller. The script spoke to me more than it should have.

Robotically I checked the mail. Most of it useless junk unless you're into extreme couponing. I had two anonymous letters which made my pulse race. Yes! My fingers landed on a notification card telling me I had a package waiting at the courier desk.

I tapped the bell and a middle aged man lumbered from the back up to the counter.

"Hey, I have a package I need to pick up," I slid the card across to him.

"ID?" he drawled in a thick accent as he inspected the card I guess for authentication.

I showed him my credentials and he was off with a grunt and returned with a rectangular shaped box wrapped in butcher's paper with a twine ribbon. He handed the parcel to me and tossed the notification card in the trash after checking my name off a list.

"Thanks."

"Pleasure," he retorted with a crooked smile.

In my apartment I opened the box to discover a bottle of Bordeaux and a handwritten note.

"'How I do apologies…your neighbor, Damon Salvatore'," I read aloud.

 _Wow_. My stomach flipped. I read the card again. My stomach somersaulted once more. This had to do with Chicago. That was the only logical explanation. The gesture was sweet and expensive but presented a doorway. I'd have to see him. I'd have to tell him thank you.

I placed the bottle on the counter by the stove and backed away.

Despite a strong sense of urgency to thank him for a wine, now wasn't the time. I was jetlagged, hungry. It could wait for another day.

Resigned, I soaked in the bath for an hour, made calls, spoke to Tyler. Dressed for bed I padded to the kitchen and stared at the bottle of wine. No. I'd give my thanks tomorrow. That was soon enough. Besides I had plans tonight, read those naughty little ficlets and promptly pass out.

I settled on the couch with the best of Liszt playing in the background. Feet on the table, back cushioned by pillows, I ripped open the envelope of the letter. The note was short this time. Just a paragraph and a lone sentence. I took my time to read each word carefully.

 _Nothing tastes better than your cream. What I love most is soaking my fingers in your essence and cuffing my dick, stroking myself. Root to tip I squeeze and fondle my cock, sometimes only massaging the head that's bulging, red and angry. Hard as fuck. You're watching me as I do this, skin flushed, breath short and panting between lips you can't help biting every few seconds or so. We tease each other like this until the urge to connect is too strong to be denied._

 _Don't deny me._

Well, damn. I eagerly open the next letter.

 _I see I've gone about this the wrong way. You once told me to seduce you using my words. Anyone can show you physically what you do to them, but no I don't want to be like everyone else, and I want to touch you in places I can't reach. Every part of you is beauty and the sound of your voice is music. When we touch it's never enough and when we're apart I feel like I'm being punished. The best thing about you is that you know you are my strength and weakness. Let me bury my soul in your cunt._

Hmm, guess he couldn't help himself with that ending.

Once again I was hearing the _wrong_ voice in my head while I read those letters. Slumping on the couch, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Five seconds later my eyes flew open.

I couldn't put it off until tomorrow.

* * *

It took a shot of vodka for me to work up the courage to head to the penthouse floor. The palm of my hands burned and turned clammy. Never a good sign. I didn't have all the words together in my head that I wanted to say. But what more needed to be added to: thanks for buying me a bottle of wine? Clearly I was making this into something bigger than it needed to be.

There I stood in front of those imposing double doors having a general idea of what awaited me on the other side. I hesitated before knocking.

The same Asian man answered the door. This time around I gave him more of my undivided attention. He was tall, standing a little above six feet. Another tailored black suit covered his two hundred plus pound frame. His black hair was buzzed low to the scalp on the sides, the hair in the center was long, thick, combed and gelled away from a flat forehead. His nose was narrow, pointing straight down to smallish lips. He had eyes the color of brandy and laugh lines around his mouth.

"Yes?"

"Hi…is Damon home? He left something for me and I just wanted to thank him."

Like with my first visit the man widened the door, stepped aside welcoming me into the former hockey star's sanctum. I continued to be floored by the informality. No appointment necessary to see him.

"What's your name?" It would be rude not to ask him since this was our second run-in.

"Hiro Tsuda."

"It's nice to meet you, Hiro. I'm Bonnie."

He gave a little bow and I inclined my head.

I heard music, saw people. "Oh, is this a bad time? I can come back."

The man turned toward me, "No, it's quite all right. Mr. Salvatore told me he might be expecting you."

Did he now?

In my periphery I saw a familiar face. And that familiar face spotted me, smiled, began to approach.

My server from my favorite restaurant sauntered up to me, clapped Hiro on the back. "Hiro, I have her from here. Enjoy yourself." Hiro wandered away, not without giving me a departing bow that I reciprocated. "Hi," bluish-green eyes glittered expectantly.

"Hi, back."

His smile widened revealing longer than normal incisors. I almost asked him if he was serving, but he wasn't dressed in server's garb. Black jeans, thin sweater with the sleeves pushed to his elbows and scuffed boots was his ensemble.

"What are you doing here…?" I had forgotten his name.

"Stefan," he filled in, stretched out a hand which I shook.

"Nice to see you again. So…I take it you're a friend of Damon's?"

The smile on his face melted slowly and he stared at his feet for a second. "Not exactly. We're brothers. He's my older brother."

"Oh." They didn't look a thing like each other.

"How do you know Damon?" Stefan tilted the rock glass in his hand back and forth.

"We just know each other casually. We've run into each other a couple of times." Had a sleep over in the Windy City where he demanded that I tell him to stop wanting me, you know the usual. "I don't mean to intrude but I wanted to thank him for something."

The bottle in my hands was beginning to feel like it weighed ninety pounds from the way Stefan focused on it. He probably thought I came up here with the idea to seduce his brother. Stefan could think what he liked.

"Ah, my brother bearing gifts. I can't say that's a first. I'll take you to him."

I followed after Stefan as he led me through the living room, past the piano and out to the massive veranda. There were three different seating arrangements, white couches with bright colorful pillows on bamboo matts, low tables. One arrangement was set around a fire pit where blue-orange flames danced.

Laughter and shrieks caught my ear and my head swiveled in its direction. A girl had just been thrown into a small pool. I wasn't seeing Damon anywhere.

"He was out here a minute ago," Stefan turned to me. "Hey," he asked a huge tree of a man who was walking by, a brunette on his arm, "have you seen Damon?"

"I think he went to refresh his drink. I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"No need."

My heart jumped at the sound of his voice. My eyes, though, they feasted on the provocative picture he made.

Seeing him in his own element was no different from the first time we locked gazes in the elevator. That was probably my brightest memory of him. What happened or could have happened between us in Chicago battled for that number one spot as the most prolific moment we shared, but there was nothing like that first look, encounter.

Sometimes I could still hear him breathing in my ear. And, if I concentrated hard enough, my cheek tingled as I thought of his touch.

Shit, shit, shit.

Damon's scruff was gone; he was clean-shaven decked in Ralph Lauren. The top three buttons of his dress shirt were undone, showing a hint of collarbone. Shirttails tucked into slacks made it no secret his thighs were all muscle, and…that he was above average if you know what I mean. His feet were housed in a pair of black square tipped dress shoes. Would there ever come a point where seeing him didn't make me feel inadequate?

Tree man and the brunette ambled off. Stefan lingered. He looked between us and normally anyone else would have realized they needed to scram, he didn't budge.

"I see you met my neighbor," Damon began conversationally, never once actually acknowledging his brother. He was too busy watching me.

"I have. Actually I know her."

That got Damon's attention. I've never seen anyone's head turn so fast in my life. "What?"

"I waited on her a few weeks back. She's a generous tipper."

Stefan smiled as if he had a leg up on something that wasn't even close to a competition. Damon's jaw flexed.

I jumped in to diffuse things. "I moonlighted as a waitress in high school and my freshman year in college. I know how it can be."

Stefan broke first and regarded me. "That makes us practically kindred," he wagged his brows.

"Well," Damon placed himself in the middle effectively blocking Stefan from sight with his body. "I saw Hiro…he said that you wanted to see me."

"Right." I presented the bottle, "Pretty expensive apology. You didn't…you didn't have to do this."

Damon's fingers lightly gripped my elbow and I was steered to a quiet corner. He let me go but not without brushing my forearm with fingertips that sparked goose bumps.

"I had to," he explained.

"Why?" I unconsciously rubbed where his touch still burned. "What are you apologizing for exactly?"

"You look beautiful, by the way."

I had exchanged my pajamas for jeans and a shirt with an asymmetrical hemline and Doc Marten's. "Thank you."

Damon leaned his hip into the chrome and glass bannister. He sighed, "I wanted to apologize for what I said to you in Chicago. I crossed a line and I shouldn't have put you in that position considering," he nodded at my ring.

"That's decent of you, Damon. Other guys wouldn't have cared. Wouldn't have bothered."

He leaned closer, bombarding my five senses. "I'm not like other guys."

My lips twitched. "Is that so? How?"

"You'll know one way or another if I'm thinking about you. Are your legs tired? Because you've been running through my mind all day."

I giggled and shoved him lightly. "You are so corny."

"But I got you to smile and now I know what the sound of your laugh sounds like."

I just swallowed a marble.

"So, do you accept my apology?" Damon lowered and tilted his head to the right.

I examined the bottle, then him and the expectancy that made his eyes glow and turn sensuous at the speed of light.

"What would you do if I didn't?"

Damon sucked in a breath, exhaled it slowly. "I'd move on. Get over it."

"That easily?"

"Probably not. I take things _hard_."

"Rejection being one of those things?"

Damon circled me to stand on my left. "Rejection is nothing but foreplay to me."

"Ah, so you're one of those persistent bastards who can't take no for an answer, and thinks it's cute to keep bugging a woman because you feel entitled to her time, attention, and phone number because you're a 'nice guy'."

"That was certainly a mouthful, but let me go ahead and put your mind at ease. First thing, I don't see myself as a nice guy, Bonnie. I do what I need to and sometimes it's not always pretty. But you'll never doubt your importance when you're around me. I don't like the word no, but I know when to _bow down_ to its power."

Of its own volition, my lips spread into a smile.

He's given me another reason to like him.

My face flushed and color slowly began to bloom on Damon's cheeks.

I covertly looked around. "What are you celebrating tonight?"

Damon shrugged his brawny shoulders, averted his attention to the activity happening just feet away. "Nothing in particular. Just invited a few friends over to shoot the shit. Living on top can get lonely."

Presumptions, we've all made them. Anyone could take one look at Damon and think he never spent a single night or hour alone. It was said that attractive people were often more lonely since everyone assumed they had plans. I didn't know how true that was, but I believed loneliness was a disease that infected everyone periodically. What I was reading from Damon, loneliness wasn't always a choice, but one he's come to expect and maybe even perpetuate because of who he was. His celebrity. How could anyone in his shoes believe they were liked for who they were and not because of the notoriety attached to them? My heart ached for Damon, and a part of me was so close to offering to help alleviate his loneliness, but I couldn't go there. I couldn't take on that responsibility.

My hand somehow found its fast self on top of his. Damon stared at it for a moment, questioning without speaking a word if I was aware I was touching him.

He spoke, "Are you going to save that bottle for a special occasion?"

"I guess I could."

"Or we could open it. Share it."

We could do that as well. Yet I was fighting fatigue and had a million things I needed to get ready for, for tomorrow.

"I can…hang for a minute," I said.

"Good," Damon slipped the bottle from my hand and crossed to a settee that was unoccupied. I joined him after a few beats of hesitation.

He disappeared and when he came back he carried two glasses, a corkscrew, and a plate of…something. He was stopped, made a quip that had those close enough to hear screaming in laughter. Damon continued in route to where I was, placed the glasses on the table. He handed the plate to me. It was a plate of oysters.

He sat beside me, close enough that each time he moved in the slightest I felt it. He stared as he popped the bottle of wine open.

"Anyone ever tell you, you have a very intense gaze?"

Damon blinked. "Once or twice." He cocked his head. "You don't seem to mind it too much."

"How do you figure?"

"You would have told me to stop looking at you. Or asked what I was looking at. You've done neither."

"It's a habit built from my profession. I have to look at things, scrutinize things. It doesn't bother me when someone does it to me."

"Is that the only reason?" he filled a glass, passed it to me.

My brows narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Are you sure doing what you do is the only reason it doesn't bother you to have someone look at you?"

I sat the plate of oysters aside. "What other possible reason would I have?"

"That you _enjoy_ it," Damon stated matter-of-fact, like he wanted me to contradict him so he could tell me about myself though he hardly knew anything about me. "You like being watched. You like being seen. You don't shy away from the attention."

I broke eye contact, stared at the wine. "If that were the case I'd be an actress."

"We're all actors and actresses. From time to time. Some just don't know when to turn it off."

I lifted my head. "Are you acting right now?"

Damon leaned forward, "Are you?"

"I've never faked anything with you."

His Adam's apple bobbed and his eyes shuttered. "What does it feel like? Being engaged?"

Damon's question threw me for a minute because it reminded me—shamelessly—that I had agreed to become someone's wife. I inhaled deeply, let my mind and attention roam around to the other guests before settling on Damon once more.

"I guess you could say I feel…special. Wanted. Needed. _Chosen_."

"Did you not feel that way just being yourself?"

I was stumped for a second. "I was complete before my fiancé asked me to marry him."

"I notice how you're careful not to use his name. Why? Do I know him?" he smiled crookedly and sat against the cushions, threw an arm over the back of the couch.

"I don't think so."

"So what is it?"

"Why do you always bring him up when we're talking? You know what the situation is. It's not something that always needs to be discussed."

"Does it make you uncomfortable…talking about him to little ole me, or just talking about him in general?"

The words were right there yet my irritation kept them at bay. I felt Damon was picking me and my relationship apart in a very subtle way, trying to expose something. What he failed to see was that I wasn't one of those people who chatted and gushed endlessly about the person I loved. And the reason why went no deeper than that. I was secure in my relationship and didn't need to throw it up every five seconds.

"I don't know you. So why I would talk to you about a very intimate part of my life? I can forge a connection or an association with you or anyone else without having to do that. My private life is that. Private."

I waited for Damon to…react positively or negatively. Some found offense when they couldn't revel in the sacrosanct parts of your life. Everything you did wasn't fodder for the masses. My parents raised me to be discreet. My grandmother said I could be an open book, but that no one needed to see the footnotes.

Seconds ticked away and slowly Damon smiled. "You covet your privacy I can definitely respect that," he drank some wine.

"You really don't have a choice in that matter."

He shrugged. "Guess I don't. I know people who tell me shit five seconds after they've done it. No one I've encountered in a _really_ long time has figured out what a luxury privacy can be. But you know."

"I do."

"And that's why I like you. And I think you like me too."

I used that as my cue to take a sip of wine. Pleading the fifth didn't only have to be used when facing criminal charges.

"What you said to me in Chicago…"

Damon affected a mask of neutrality. "Don't worry, Bonnie. You're okay."

I felt anything but.

Drinks and conversation segued into an abbreviated tour of his lair. Damon had an eye for fine art and a love for dark floors and furniture that looked antique. He deliberately skipped his bedroom. We ended up in his Hall of Fame room. The walls were decked in framed photos of Damon from his days of playing high school football to stills of him on the ice in full hockey regalia. His team never won any championships while he played, but he had amassed himself a few awards: MVP, Player of the Year, Most Improved.

Damon hovered a step or two behind me as I ogled the athletic part of his life. I caught myself grinning slightly at the pictures of him celebrating with his teammates. I came to a stop in front of head shot of my ubiquitous neighbor.

"Wait a minute," I murmured and peered closer. "This is a drawing. Someone drew this?!" I exclaimed and looked again.

"Yeah, a fan drew that. That's a print. The fan has the original with my signature on it."

"Oh, wow this is amazing."

"The artist's name is Minka Barrows in case you're curious."

"I'll keep that in mind. I'm always on the lookout for new talent to do concept art and movie posters."

"I know you produce films…have you ever directed one?"

I glanced at Damon over my shoulder. "I've directed a couple. One was for my senior project…the others for fun. Are you familiar with film noir?"

"Not really."

"It's a genre that was real popular in the 40s and 50s that usually dealt with femme fatales or anti-heroes shot in black and white film. They were short pieces, the ones I directed, and part of a series about a woman whose profession was scamming men. It ended with her scamming the wrong one."

"What happened to her?"

I faced Damon. "She died."

Damon took a step. He was closer. "Do you think I could be an actor?"

"You have the face for it."

"You find me handsome?"

I penned him with a droll stare. "You're not ugly."

"Anyway I could coax you out of retirement and direct me?" his eyes were wandering.

Throat dry I managed to say, "Not a chance."

I started to move along but tripped. My shoelace had come undone and I bent to re-tie it.

"Allow me," Damon lowered to one knee, brought my foot up and rested it on his thigh.

"I can do it."

"Shush," was a sharp, whistled sound that escaped between his puckered lips. He chastised me with a frown.

"You like being on your knees in front of a woman?"

Damon tied a perfect bow, but didn't place my foot back on the floor. Not right away. Again he seemed to be thinking very hard about something.

He speared me with an indescribable look. "I do."

You need to leave, Bonnie, common sense nudged me. The pulse in my veins had other ideas and none of them were good.

I wrangled my foot free. Stuttered, "It's getting late. Walk me to the door?"

Damon, he wanted to argue but motioned with his hand for me to proceed before him.

At the door I waffled and then blurted, "I Googled you."

Damon wasn't surprised but probably figured I would at some point. "Did you?" I nodded. "What did you learn?"

"You're generous when you need to be, have a preference for brunettes, but other than that…everything else was superficial."

He ambled forward, towered over me. "What do you sense about me, Bonnie?"

"I…you're…"

Vaguely I recognized I was being herded to a corner by the door. My back was against the wall. Damon stood in front of me, feet shoulder length apart, his hands bracketed my head.

Why was he doing this? What I sensed from him I could only guess was being fueled by whatever Damon sensed in me. Dangerous.

"I need to go. Damon."

He didn't move an inch. Studied me. Tried to pry inside at different spots and angles with no such luck. The second his thighs touched mine…

I ducked beneath his arm and zipped for the door almost half expecting him to catch me around the waist and haul me off my feet. It didn't happen.

Forget the elevator, I rushed for the stairs.

" _You like being on your knees in front of a woman?"_

" _I do."_

Damon Salvatore just cast himself in my villain origin story.

* * *

Camille O'Connell observed as I paced from one end of her office to the other waiting patiently for me to explain why I called for an emergency session.

"Bonnie…?"

"The thing you don't know about me and Tyler is…he used to be my submissive."

There it was out.

Camille blinked. It was a relief to let that out although it had gone against Tyler's wishes, but fuck it I was taking my chances. I couldn't have this sitting on my chest any longer. Now that we agreed on a date to marry, and I still had so much stuff to deal with that admission seemed small by comparison.

"He was your submissive?" Cami seemingly tested the words on her tongue. "Meaning, you were the dominant in a BDSM relationship?"

"Yes that's what it typically means," I snapped.

I took off my engagement ring and slammed it with more force than intended on the coffee table. Cami jumped a bit in surprise.

"I need to know if that," I pointed at the ring, "is real or if I'm making a mistake. If I'm just settling, or if my connection is stronger with this man I met that I barely know. A man who I think wants me to be his dom."

 **A/N: Thoughts? Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Happy New Year. Happy reading!**

* * *

"You're questioning if this connection you feel you have with a stranger outweighs what you have with Tyler?"

Hearing my therapist say that aloud made me pull up short. It made me think of times I self-sabotaged, refused help which threw my life out of whack and how long it took to climb out of rabbit holes as a result. Lust was easy. Love was hard. The former could be confused with the latter and vice versa. I usually knew where I stood with people, what I needed from them, but I wasn't always capable of cutting them off. Sometimes I took what I could get and called it luck. Tyler loved me and I loved him. Our relationship wasn't empty, but why could I not stop thinking about Damon Salvatore?

"We settle sometimes, like you've told me, and I just want to be sure that's not what I'm doing."

"Are you and Tyler still practicing BDSM?" Camille was uncertain if she were using the right terminology, but mustered on, "Is it an ongoing part of your intimacy? I know you said he _was_ your submissive…but do you…"

"Blow the dust of it every now and again?" I supplied. "No. He hasn't been my sub for six and a half months."

"There were others before Tyler?"

"Yes."

"Only with male partners?"

"There were three subs before Tyler, one was a woman. Those relationships weren't very long. I was involved with two at the same time. They each wanted monogamy. I wasn't looking to settle down. Would you like to know how I got my start as a dom?"

Mutely, Camille nodded.

I sat down, rubbed the palms of my hand on my knees, licked my lips. My nerves settled, spine straightened and I crossed one leg over the other. Cami visibly relaxed as I relaxed. Exerting control over someone didn't always entail raising your voice or making threats. It could entail body language, having a particular air about you that seduced others to concede. A look, a touch, you.

"It started—no I was introduced to the BDSM world my senior year in college. There was a club, The Bathhouse was the name. A friend worked there and invited me out. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The things I saw…I was terrified, aroused, confused. But I was intrigued.

"So on my twenty-first birthday I threw my own BDSM party. I didn't want the usual, girls in lingerie, guys in suits. I told my male friends if they wanted to attend then they needed to don silk boxers or the most see-through tighty whities they could find," I chuckled softly. "Bare chests, no pants, no socks, no shoes. Us ladies we wore the suits and ties that night.

"I had a flogging expert from the club come. Mistress Donna Francesca. She brought her submissive with her, and showed us the different techniques and tools she used on his ass daily. Since it was my birthday, Mistress Francesca offered her sub to me. Said I could fuck him. I balked because I had never had a one night stand with a stranger, but she laughed and said no, he wouldn't be the one doing the penetrating. _I'd_ penetrate _him_. Fuck him with a strap-on. My brain kind of short circuited. I couldn't go there, not on the first night.

"The names she called him, the more he was degraded the harder he got. She flogged him, and fucked him and as she did so…she laughed at how I didn't think he was good enough to have his ass taken by me. It was wild. A week had passed, a month and I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"Why did this appeal to you, Bonnie?" Camille asked after I paused for a minute.

That was a question I asked myself numerous times but there was no cut and dry answer. Was I a reluctant daddy's girl scared into never having sex as not to disappoint him? Had I been abused, seen or suffered some trauma? Had I watched my mother being dominated and subconsciously vowed not to end up like her? Or was I just kinky?

"I—"

Perhaps it was divine intervention or something less deific, but raised voices caught mine and Camille's ear, broke the moment. She turned just as the door to her office burst open and a white man with the reddest lips I had ever seen stood panting as if he ran a marathon to get here. Camille rose, blindly placing her tablet and stylus on her chair.

"I must speak with you," the man said, blue eyes stapled to my therapist taking no notice I was in the room.

Camille's assistant Davina came bouncing up behind the man, looking stricken, apologetic, and furious. "I'm so sorry, Camille. I told Mr. _Mikaelson,_ " she glared at the back of his head and I'm positive if she had something sharp she would have stabbed him with it, "you were with another client but he ignored…"

"Camille," Mr. Mikaelson railroaded Davina. "It's imperative I speak with you at _once_ , and I'm not leaving until I do."

"Klaus…I'm in the middle of a session. You can't be here right now," she herded him out of her office.

"I'm calling security," Davina promised and was the last thing I heard before the door was closed.

Five minutes passed, then another five before Camille popped back into the office. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair looked a little less coiffed, a little wild.

"I'm so sorry, Bonnie. That's never happened before."

"Everything all right?"

Camille nodded jerkily and poured a glass of water, drank the whole thing seemingly without breathing. Once she was finished I could tell she was contemplating drinking another glass, or pulling out a bottle of something stronger. She sat the glass down on the carafe, composed herself, and retook her seat.

There was only fifteen minutes left in my session. If I started speaking more than likely what I had to say would go in one ear and out the other. Camille was preoccupied, thinking of her imprudent client. What the hell was his deal? I had said enough for the day anyways. One of the big bones in my closet was out. How'd we proceed from here I'd leave that to Camille.

I left her office with more apologies and a free thirty minute session redeemable whenever I saw fit. With no distraction or other recourse available I headed to my office.

Rental property—fuck _everything_ in Canada was expensive, and I wish I could say I found the space for Themyscira Films at a steal, which would be lying. We were barely scraping by per month so most of my employees telecommunicated, and that help cut down on the need for offices and expenses. The low gray brick building was a little under 3,000 square feet hovering right on the city's east side. Security was top priority. We had the essentials that thankfully were all paid for, the editing and sound equipment included. That was why the need of investors was so important.

Yet there was no better rush than pulling into the lot of my dream, parking in my reserved spot.

I was swamped before I could even get both feet through the door. "Let the madness begin," I muttered under my breath, turning to my assistant who was ready to rattle off how long my day was going to be.

Anna Zhu, quirky, intelligent, and nosey as fuck. She was fresh out of college and recommended to me by her mother who was a fellow entrepreneur. Anna had been my right hand for the last year and things were working out. However I knew she wouldn't want to remain an assistant for much longer. Anyways, she blocked my path.

"Dietrich needs you in Maryland."

"I was just in Maryland," I groused.

"I know and he needs you again. It's an emergency. The words _law_ and _suit_ were used. Some people, the locals are getting in their feelings and smelling themselves because of the election in the US. I've booked you on the six o'clock."

I face palmed myself and sighed loudly. "I can't go to Maryland. I have that…"

"I rescheduled," Anna handed me the itinerary.

My brows rose, "Well, I guess I'm going to Maryland. And here I thought I was the boss around here."

Anna patted my shoulder and headed back to her cube located outside of my office.

I wasn't feeling so much like a dom at the moment.

* * *

I did the best I could by flying to meet with Dietrich, Sheldon the director and Lia the executive producer of Themyscira Films' latest documentary about black women during the Victorian Era. The permit issue was never resolved so we ended up moving production to my sleepy hometown of Mystic Falls, Virginia to film two pivotal scenes. I had mixed feelings about that. I made sure not to tell my parents I was home, and anytime I had to leave the B&B I left in a disguise. Shockingly I made it the entire week without being spotted by anyone I had gone to high school with who never managed to escape the clutches of this antiquated town. Light-headedness, headaches, and fitful nights of sleep plagued me the entire time I was home, and I didn't start to feel normal until I was in the air, streaking across the skies to British Columbia.

Life was there to welcome we back with complications.

"Are you back?"

"Yeah just walked through the door of my apartment," struggled to get inside would be more accurate since I was rolling my suitcase, fighting with my carry on and purse while holding my cell.

M started screaming and I jerked the phone away from my ear. That wasn't a scream of fear but of unbridled happiness.

"Great! You'll never believe what happened since you've been gone. Okay guess."

I fumbled with my keys. After the second try got the key in the lock, fell inside of my home. "M, I'm exhausted. Can you just tell me?"

"Oh, all right. When I came to your place to pick up Sphinx I ran into Damon Salvatore!"

And M was officially screaming again. I, on the other hand, wasn't. Wasn't even cracking a smile because something uncomfortable coiled through my guts. The floor tilted beneath me. I found my way, clumsily, to the couch in my dark apartment.

"We talked for a minute," M was saying, "and I swear it was the best minute of my life. Can you believe how blue his eyes are? Unreal! And he's much nicer than I thought he'd be. Such a gentleman."

I imagined M was fanning herself.

"Yes, I'm fanning myself," she giggled. "Anyways, you'll never believe what he asked me next. I'm still having a hard time believing it and I was there. Ha. Ready? He asked me out on a date!"

What. The. Hell.

"You said yes," I managed to say through a mysteriously dry throat.

"Of course I said yes, you silly goose. Former professional hockey player who looks like a god in man form? Hell yeah I said yes. I'm stoked but…"

"What?"

"This is a pretty big deal. Stuff like this doesn't happen to me. Guys who look like him don't go for girls who look like me."

"Stop calling yourself a girl. You're a woman. Own it."

M sighed nearly dismissively. "What if I bore him or do or say something embarrassing? I'll never live that down and I'll never be able to go on another date again. And I know what you're going to say…that I'm being overdramatic and psyching myself out. I'm not, B. I'm just being realistic. For once."

I knew I was going to regret this.

"What do you need?" I asked.

"Well…" she hedged. "I finally pestered him enough to tell me what we're doing. He races so he's taking me to a track on a friend's property that's about half an hour outside of the city. I was hoping maybe…you might want to tag along. _Please_."

"M," I deadpanned.

"I know, I know. But Damon did say if I had any friends who were into racing they could come. He'd just have to know names to tell his friend. So…be my wingwoman. I'll love you forever."

"You already do."

"I'll keep Sphinx for another week," she bargained.

"I miss my baby."

"Ah, I miss you, too."

"I didn't mean you."

M laughed. "Please, Bonnie. I'm sure he won't mind if you come. You two are neighbors after all."

I rubbed my forehead. We were neighbors all right yet I vibed he had been testing me for something I no longer partook in. Not to sound conceited or anything, but this had the appearance of an awfully convenient scam to use my friend as an excuse to get to me. Damon saw me with M at the bar when I declined giving him my number. Since then I've drank with him, spent the night with him (platonically), had him down on his knees before me practically admitting he enjoyed being there. He had ordered me to order him to stop wanting me. This was so fucked up. What was he playing at?

"I don't want to impose on your first date since breaking up with Xander," I rose from the couch and went to the kitchen. I frowned at the contents of my refrigerator and made a note to go shopping immediately.

"You wouldn't be. I'm really scared, not that anything bad would happen but that Damon will probably see my lack of confidence and be turned off. With you there, I know I'll be fine."

I couldn't do this. I couldn't. But you know what happens when you tell yourself to stay away from something.

M got her way.

I exited my apartment an hour later, freshly showered and looking as dowdy as I could make myself. I certainly didn't want Damon to think I put in any kind of effort for him. Since he was being so generous with his invite I called up a friend of my own to tag along because there was no way I was going to be a third wheel on my besties magical night.

I slid into the passenger seat of Greta Martin's coup.

I could say a lot about my good friend Greta Martin. Other than being the epitome of grace and elegance with a down-to-earth bohemian flare, she was daring, book and street smart. Greta held nothing back, believed in grabbing life by the horns and riding it for all it was worth. She had a discerning eye for fashion, and could pick apart a person's entire background and history based on their footwear alone.

A trait which came in handy. She was a junior associate at a law firm.

Most thought we were sisters when they saw us together. We did have the same caramel complexion, but her eyes were dark brown, and she was leaner in build.

"Ready?" she asked.

"I nodded. I got the address. Let's go."

Greta also said the first thing to pop into her head. "If this guy ends up looking like a shoe from Payless, I'm grabbing M and we're leaving."

I popped her on the arm. "Be nice. And trust me…he doesn't look like a shoe from Payless."

"Un-hun."

Whatever Damon's motives were, if he hurt M I would personally collect his balls. If my suspicions were correct he'd probably happily offer them up.

* * *

The coarse smell of smoke, the roar of engines revving and tires squealing against asphalt, ear shattering music was sensory overload. Adrenaline crashed with serotonin and made my heart palpitate.

There was an amalgam of cars from classic to foreign marvels with custom paint jobs and chrome shining under the moon and stadium lighting. If you told me I was standing on the set of the latest Fast & the Furious movie I would have believed you. To my wonderful surprise there were quite a few ladies proudly showcasing their whips and driving capabilities, participating in the races retrofitting the stereotype this was a man's sport and that women weren't good drivers.

Greta and I meandered after parking an entire lot away from the festivities. I was constantly texting M for her location which changed every few seconds or so. Greta being slightly taller than me saw her first and lifted a hand to get her attention.

M was in an extremely short black leather pleated skirt, a halter top and a motorcycle jacket. Clunky heels boosted her four inches off the ground, and her curls were perfectly tousled. She looked beautiful.

"Bonnie, you made it!" she hugged me tightly.

"You know I couldn't leave you hanging," I squeezed her back. "You look sexy as hell."

M laughed.

My stomach somersaulted. Damon climbed out of a black Pontiac GTO. Our eyes met.

"Greta," M moved on to hug her leaving me wide open for Mr. Former Hockey Player's assessment.

He closed the driver's side door of his American muscle, rounded the trunk, and leaned against it for a second. I told myself to look away but I was stuck. His long legs were encased in black jeans; a thin dark gray T-shirt barely covered his waistline, and his leather jacket—left open certainly concealed nothing.

My narrowed eyes let him know his subterfuge wasn't appreciated. Damon gave nothing away.

M bounced to his side and drew him closer. She was beaming, glowing, and I blinked a few times to get my head on straight. I wish I could say it was bizarre seeing them together but it wasn't. What was bizarre was that damnable flare of envy within myself.

"Damon, you already know Bonnie but the vixen beside her is Greta Martin. Greta I'd like you to meet Damon Salvatore, yes _the_ Damon Salvatore."

Greta and Damon traded niceties. I'm sure if I looked hard enough I'd see that my dear friend's cheeks were darkening by the second. Greta knew next to nothing about hockey so she didn't catch on to why M would add "the" in front of his name. It didn't matter either way. Look at the man.

"Bonnie," Damon addressed me, holding out his hand.

I shook it and let go but not too quickly as that would have drawn attention and raised some eyebrows. Damon smirked, barely.

We were joined by two others. Both men, one of them was Stefan who showed his longer than natural incisors when he saw me, but he must have remembered something as he turned his attention to Greta after saying hello to me, and began chatting her up. The other guy who was shorter than the Salvatore brothers, had shoulder length blond hair and a beard. He introduced himself as Aiden.

M sidled beside me, affectionately bumping her shoulder into mine. "How was Maryland?"

"Fine," was my monosyllabic response.

"And the fiancé? Missing Tyler yet?" M batted her brown doe-eyes.

"Give me a few days and I'll probably be a crying mess."

M threw her head back laughing, "Yeah, right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Must have been my hard tone that had M looking flustered and horrified. "I didn't mean anything by it, Bon. Truly. I know you love Tyler, but…" she visibly clamped her lips together.

"But?"

She shrugged and stared down at her feet, "Sometimes…okay don't get mad," she lifted her head, meeting my gaze. "Sometimes you just come off indifferent to Tyler. But we don't need to talk about this now. We're here to have fun."

M promptly scurried away to Damon. I observed them for a moment. M's brightness to Damon's darkness. She was Tinkerbell to his fallen angel. The cliché of the good girl taming the resident bad boy. Though in all fairness my knowledge of Damon was skeletal thin at best, circumstantial at worst. He probably wasn't bad but he was sneaky, deceptive if he was using M to get to me. If. Maybe he did like her.

Then why are his eyes always coming back to you?

"Come on, Bon, let's look around," Greta suggested and I was only too happy to follow.

* * *

Time was on torque. Races happened so fast you could hardly distinguish one winner from the next. I made a few bets unwilling to place more than twenty on a particular driver. I wasn't strapped for cash but shrewd when it came to investments. So far I was eighty bucks richer.

Greta had gone off with Stefan as he pointed out some of the finer details on his tricked out Charger. M was speaking with a female racer by the name of Gloria, which left me…and Damon.

I stood off to the side happily munching on my corndog. He encroached on my territory, planting himself right in front me. I hiked a brow.

"Can I have a bite?" he eyed my food then me.

"Go ask your date. She's eating a corndog just like I am." And while you're at it, mind explaining why you asked my friend out? Naturally I kept that question on lockdown.

Damon was amused. "How're you liking things so far?"

I shrugged and took another bite. "It's interesting. And loud!"

"I have some noise cancelling headphones if you'd like to borrow them."

That was a sweet offer but M should be the one to profit from it. "That's okay but thanks. I'll deal."

"You sure?"

"Positive," I shouted.

Low-budget Thor called Damon's name and told him it was his turn to enter the track.

"Am I your favorite to win?"

"No," I replied and waved him off.

Damon placed a hand over his heart as he began to pedal backwards to his idling vehicle. "Guess I'm going to have to make you lose some money," he winked.

Almost as an afterthought Damon jogged to M and from the looks of it asked if she wanted to ride shotgun. By way her eyes lit up and the color that flooded her cheeks she was thrilled.

Damon cast one final glance my way before folding his lean body behind the wheel. He revved the engine and his taillights grew smaller as he drove slowly to the start line. Greta rejoined me.

He lost.

"What was that you said about me losing money?" I wasted nary a second to rub his face in his loss once he drove back to his pit.

Damon scowled.

M was too euphoric to be sad on Damon's behalf he got spanked.

She danced to my side and used me to try to balance herself. "Ohmygod, Bon you have got to go out there. I thought I was going to die, but it was the best fucking feeling in the world. The speed, the adrenaline! Damon, on your next run, take her."

"M," I chided.

"Sure, if she's not scared."

"I'm not scared of anything. I'm simply not interested."

"I'm riding with Stefan," Greta informed.

Traitor.

"See," M voiced triumphantly, "everyone is getting a chance to see what it's like. I know you don't want to be left out."

I could really care less about being left out. It was the fact of the matter M wanted me to get into a car with the guy who asked _her_ out on a date; a guy who I had encounters with that would normally lead to several places, a bedroom being one of those places. She didn't know and if I told her, M would start singing an entirely different tune.

But now was not the time for me to blow up her spot.

"Fine," I gave in. "I'll ride shotgun but after that Greta and I have to go. We're hungry."

"We are?" Greta said. I poked her with my elbow. "Right, we're famished."

"If you want," Damon interjected, "we can all go and get some grub afterward."

"No, that's okay," I shot that down. "I'm sure M can't wait to have you all to herself at some point tonight."

M brightened at that whereas Damon…he suddenly had to check his phone, answering it knowing he wouldn't be able to hear jackshit because of the noise.

"Greta!" Stefan yelled and then waved her over. It was his turn to race.

M, Damon and I shuffled to the designated area to watch. With Damon standing in between us, occasionally leaning down to hear M, I stood close enough that anytime he moved it felt like a part of him brushed against me. I could give that the benefit of the doubt because the mob was so deep we were all compressed like sardines in a can, yet I wasn't naïve enough to believe every small touch or contact wasn't deliberate.

Unlike his brother, Stefan won his race.

"It won't be long now," Damon reminded me of our agreement. "Are you ready?"

I craned my neck toward him. "As I'll ever be."

"Say that with more cheer and I'll actually believe you."

Not a chance.

"We're up. Milady," he mocked a bow to which I rolled my eyes yet proceeded in front of him.

M grabbed Damon before we could leave the pit. She yanked him down, planted a kiss on his cheek. "Good luck!"

For his second race Damon removed his leather jacket. "This time I'm doing the loop instead of the strip. I need more dexterity and it's kind of hard to do with that on," he explained.

Damon's car was sex or used to have sex on. The inside was custom everything. Leather floor mats, dials and switches, odometer and speedometer that emitted a low violet light. Seats that came with a four-point harness that Damon adjusted for me. He worked deftly and quietly, flicking his gaze to me every few seconds as he secured me in.

"That okay?" he pulled on the shoulder straps.

I couldn't budge. "It's fine."

He strapped himself in after doing his last minute engine check. His muscles rolled and flexed beneath his skin as he slid the straps of the harness over his shoulders. After waiting ten minutes for the last race to finish up, he was given the go-ahead to get into positon. Finally his hand was on the gear shift. We were moving.

Damon was racing against three other drivers. They lined up one next to each other. I jumped when he took my hand and kissed my knuckles.

"For luck," he said and then a veil dropped over his face. He was no longer in the car with me but possibly seeing his every move on the track.

The green flag was waved. It was go time.

My entire body was slammed into the seat and jettisoned from one speed to the next. It was like a Lenny Kravitz song.

Damon popped the clutch and changed gears, arm straight and locked, death grip on the wheel. He had the look of someone who would fist fight fire to get to the finish line first. It was terrifying and exhilarating to travel this fast over pavement, and a few times I had to close my eyes when another driver got within an inch of us. Damon was a methodical driver, not pressed to take the lead and maintain it for the entire race. He let the other drivers battle it out as they played chicken with one another. He had no time for games and it would be hell on his tires anyway.

By the final turn we were in second place.

Lips pulled back to his teeth, the tendon on the side of his neck protruded, and I'm sure the pedal was all the way to the floor. When I saw the speed I nearly fainted, but I stared straight ahead almost willing us to go faster without the car exploding or flipping over if it was so much as tapped. My nails dug into the seat.

He passed the car that had been spending far too much time trying to block us from edging into first place.

Damon hit the clutch, engine screaming. "Gotdammit!"

We were over the finish line and the GTO fishtailed a little as Damon applied the brake. It took forever for us to stop and when we did the both of us was breathing hard.

We looked at one another, shocked, and then we were smiling like idiots. Damon released the wheel. We clipped off our harness seatbelts. He reached for my hand again. Only, he pulled me across the console as if he were going to kiss me, but he froze once realizing what he had done. And we were stuck like that. Leaned in far too close.

"What do you want?" he rasped.

"What do you want?"

"Tell me what…"

In seconds the car was surrounded by people cheering and screaming startling the both of us. We shot apart. Just that quickly I forgot…yep he was a hockey star. Of course his win would be celebrated with enthusiasm. But I needed to get away from him.

"Wait," Damon stopped me from climbing out.

I spared him a single glance that said more than it should have and got out of the car.

* * *

M was safely tucked away at home as she fulfilled my request to text to let me know she made it okay. I didn't want to push my luck or expose myself by questioning if she were alone. If Damon kissed her. None of that was my business, which I was positive she'd share the first chance she got.

Regardless of what my intentions were I waited for him outside of his penthouse. We needed to talk.

The elevator binged and he stepped out scratching the nape of his neck. Damon stopped abruptly at seeing me. He didn't ask what I was doing here nor did he look smug as if he expected me to be loitering outside of his door at close to two in the morning. I was well aware of how this looked, but really I was here to issue a warning.

He closed the distance between us coming to stand right in front of me. I could smell faint traces of M's perfume on him suggesting they hugged at the very least.

"What are you trying to do?" I folded my arms, straightened my stance.

"What do you mean?"

"With my friend."

A corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile and immediately flattened. Damon moved closer and for some reason my leg came up and my heel pressed into his stomach. It was muscle memory from my past. A past in which I spent a great deal of time issuing discipline. He groaned softly but didn't purposely lean his weight into me.

"Jealous?" he lifted a skeptical brow.

"No."

"Yeah right."

I wouldn't engage in this back and forth. "She's a beautiful person. If you're truly interested in her then by all means, do you. But if you're using her I _will_ gut you like a fish."

"What would I be using her for, Bonnie?" he spoke in a dulcet tone. "To get your attention? I think it's safe to say I already have it."

My lips pursed. "She's my friend, Damon. I won't let you hurt or use her."

"I'm sure some part of you thinks you're doing your friend a great service, maybe you are, but I can't help but wonder."

"Wonder all you like. I've said what I came here to say," with my foot still on his stomach I nudged him the hell away. He skidded back a few steps. His jaw flexed, eyes bulged a little.

Maybe he would take my warning seriously and think about what he was doing with M, or he wouldn't. Only time would—

I was grabbed and pushed into the opposite wall. Hair in my face, hands on his leather clad biceps I stare slack jawed at Damon who fell flush against me. His stomach and thighs smothered mine. His cock pressed right in that juncture where my thigh and hip connected, not completely hard but getting there. My pulse raced.

Damon let go of my shoulders and placed his palms flat on the wall, bracketing my head.

"Would you like a demonstration of how I ended my date with your friend? And it wasn't a date so much as it was an outing."

"What it means to you doesn't mean the same to M."

"I didn't lead her on."

"Are you sure?"

Damon shrugged. "People are going to read into what you do based on their perception. Doesn't make it the truth."

Ugh, he was being logical.

"You knew how it would look," I countered.

"And how does it look? That I'd do anything to get a few minutes of your time?"

"You have," I muttered.

"Yet you haven't seemed to mind. Did I read you wrong? Bonnie."

Why did his voice have to sound like syrup and chocolate being poured on a bare cunt? Shit, my nipples were hardening.

"Did I read you wrong?" he pressed.

"Just…I," I hated he had me flustered.

A flash of teeth and Damon said, "I'll tell you what happened. I walked her to her front door and told her I had a good time. I did. Though I may have omitted which part I actually enjoyed."

I squinted but remained quiet.

Damon brushed a lock of hair off my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. His touch was like an ice cube over a burn. Damon's head tilted down and once again he was staring at me searchingly.

"But I think I'll keep that part to myself. I gave her a hug, said I'd call her later, and that was the end of it."

"Good to know," I fidgeted.

"So you see, I understand the perils of leading someone on. My question to you is…why haven't you pushed me away? I know you feel that I'm hard."

Caught but he wouldn't see me sweat.

I angled my head, "So it's my fault you can't control your dick?"

"I think of it as a compliment to you."

"And I think it's an insult to my friend _you_ asked to go out with."

I could hear each breath Damon took and it occurred me to I could hear myself breathing as well. At some point things changed from throwing our gravitas around to this.

His jaw hardened and he stepped away from me. "I can't control a lot of things when it comes to you."

I stepped closer to him, "Try harder."

"Is that what you _really_ want me to do?"

"Yes," I hissed.

Damon stared at me curiously, eyes roaming which annoyed and excited me. "Question, where's your ring, Bonnie?"

My brows furrowed. I looked down at my left hand. My bare left hand. Shit. Where was my ring?

When I looked up he was farther away now. Almost at his door. Damon unlocked the gate of his fortress, hovered under the threshold with the invitation clear as day.

"We can keep this going or we can end it," Damon kicked his door open wider. "One of us has to take that step."

I thought of M, how hurt she'd be if she were watching this, the same for Tyler, and my mind rudely conjured an image of Damon waiting for me naked lying in bed. Cuffed to it. That wasn't the worst of it. The throb between my legs was such it was almost painful, and I knew then I had to get away.

"Want to know something about me, Damon? I don't give in and I don't share. Interpret that however you like. Goodnight."

"It's morning," he corrected, non-arrogantly.

"So it is," I made my way to the elevator.

* * *

Later on that same morning I got a phone call from Tyler.

"Bunny…good news. I'm coming home."

I should be happy. I was happy. My ringless finger said otherwise.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think. This may be my last update for any of my stories for a while. Just wanted to let you guys know. I'm really, really burnt out. Nevertheless, once again thank you so much for reading. XOXO.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This chapter is different as it's told from Damon's POV. It's his intro. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Damon**

* * *

 _Two a.m._ was the hour I ripped inside my bedroom. Tearing off my leather jacket I flung it behind me with a very audible grunt, and with more force than necessary. My shirt soon followed. I fumbled with my belt, button, fly but eventually got my pants down to my ankles which I kicked them and my boots off.

Tonight like many nights in the past had ended in utter disaster. Kind of. Well, maybe. _Fuck!_ I thrust a hand through my hair begging my brain to slow down and let me think one thought at a time. For someone who used to move at the speed of sound on my Bauers, everything was moving far too quickly to process. Yet if I stopped and committed too much time to thinking about what happened, my already swollen knuckles would cry even harder for more blood.

I shook my head furiously, muttered, and entered the bathroom.

I avoided looking in the mirror. Couldn't. The action required too much weight, making it a burden I refused to fuckin' deal with. Besides, mirrors reflected a perception of reality, but could it really be reliable? I wasn't in the best of moods to find that out.

Wrenching the faucet on full blast, I proceeded to scrub my hands, ignoring the sting of hot water hitting the open cuts on my skin.

Steam rose and condensation built on the mirror, skewering the image.

That's when I decided to look.

I didn't understand why I felt…panic or as close to panic as I had ever felt before. I knew what desperation tasted like. Acrid. Bitter. I knew the flavor of disappointment. Had intimate knowledge of lust. Knew the intricacies of deking out an opponent. But this, _this_ whatever this was, I hadn't been acquainted with since facing my father after dropping out of college my final semester. What a fun time that was. Telling the old man I was being scouted to go pro and decided why the hell not. I wasn't good at much else anyways.

When I finally stopped scrubbing my hands, my cuticles were bleeding. Great. That kind of pain matched the kind that twisted my gut at the thought of what could have happened tonight if I hadn't made it in time.

It was over. She was safe. Nothing could get to her unless…

My Adam's apple bobbed but I told myself not to even go there. _Don't open that door, and don't you fucking dare feel bad for what you did. You did it for her. There is no limit; there is no line you wouldn't cross to make sure she's safe._

Those were my thoughts and as I repeated them, that panicky feeling began to recede, and the vice around my lungs let the hell up. I told Stefan eons ago, it seemed, that I had no problems being the bad guy. I would be the one to protect our family and so far I was delivering on that front. However, my job would be so much easier if Sarah, my niece learned how to fuckin' listen.

It was over now.

Tonight could have been avoided if she hadn't let her sick fuck of an ex sweet talk his way back into her good graces. Men like him didn't change overnight or at all. Hell, once upon a time I bordered on being a degenerate just like him. I changed my ways, I liked to think. Therefore, that made me something of an expert, but to hear Sarah tell it I was out of touch. No. I was observant. I made deductions and it wasn't my fault those in my life disliked the conclusions I reached and how I dealt with them.

Why was it so fucking hard for her to move on? Why was she so intent on destroying her life?

 _The same could be said about you once upon a time,_ My smug mind questioned.

 _Not the point,_ I countered and turned off the light in the bathroom.

As I reentered my bedroom I stepped over my pile of clothes, pulled back the duvet, and climbed into bed.

The second my head hit the pillow for the first time in decades I wanted sleep to come immediately. A dreamless unconsciousness to whisk me into an endless black pit of nothing. Not to be had. The minute I laid on the bed my ears replayed the sound of Sarah's horrific scream. Blood curdling. Broken. The type that made my soul shriek.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

She was never going to forgive me. Part of that inherent knowledge made me flip over in bed, knots forming in my empty stomach. One part of me didn't give a shit. We weren't friends. She was my niece. She was family. However, I cared about her and wanted her in my life since there weren't too many people occupying it who didn't have ulterior motives. Sarah would get over this, and realize what I did was the only course of action to take. It had been the right thing to do.

Then why the guilt?

A knock sounded on my door. Dammit, I thought he left.

"Go away."

"Damon," Stefan ignored my grunted request and eased into my room.

"What about go and away do you not understand?"

"What happened tonight…"

"Stefan," the way I pronounced my brother's name like the threat that it was echoed through the room.

My little brother knew he was pushing, taking a risk, but he had thoughts he needed to share, get off his chest, purge. What happened tonight had been a total deviation of the pl—er agreement we had come to. Stefan could say he was surprised but he wasn't. He could even shamefully admit to being relieved, but he wouldn't. To say those things aloud, even while saying it in a dulcet tone with only me as his reluctant audience, still would have been too loud and someone could overhear.

Taking the hint I wasn't in the mood to rehash things, he left.

I released the breath I had been holding. I didn't want to hear Stefan preach, didn't want to feel the prick of his condemnation. I didn't even want to look at him because I knew exactly what I would find. I had gotten my point across _too_ well and he didn't approve of it.

Closing my eyes, I willed myself to fall asleep.

* * *

I hadn't been in a fight in years and because of that my adrenaline was up. Of course my actions hadn't flown as under the radar as I would have liked come morning. Then again they would've if I didn't have a narc for a brother. Where's the fuckin' loyalty?

The first angry text message I received was from my lawyer. _**You put yourself at risk. Get your pretty ass to my office. NOW!**_

Yeaah, how about no.

Any other day I'd be happy to let Rose Marie chew my balls, but I had other things on my schedule that were priority over sitting in her eye sore of an office while she dragged my conduct for filth. Besides, no one involved was in any kind of position to press charges, but if it happened there was always a viable loophole. That's what I paid Rose to do. Get me out of shit I didn't want to be in.

I couldn't get out of the meeting I had with a team of gaming programmers. Immediately following that I was set to give a speech at an athletic training conference. In about twenty minutes, though, my assistant would be here to assail me with a list of demands on my time for the rest of the week. Dinners, appearances, meetings. The bullshit never stopped, and now that I was out of the league I was actually busier than when I was pro. Go figure.

 _Vivaldi_ played in the background as I expertly tied my tie while examining my appearance in the mirror. The same one I had a difficult looking into hours ago. One glance you'd never know what I had been up to last night. One glance you'd think you could tell me my life story and think you'd be right. But this mask hid things few would understand. This mask lied about my level of loneliness.

Hiro, my live-in bodyguard, knocked on the door to let me know the car was ready.

"I'll be out in five," I bellowed. Showered and dressed in Brioni I left the confines of my bedroom, headed downstairs to the kitchen were a glass of protein gunk Hiro made fresh every morning would be waiting to test my gag reflex.

Like always, I eyed the tall glass of whatever the hell was blended, took a breath, and swallowed without thinking too much. I could talk a lot of shit about this drink, but had to admit that whatever it was left me feeling energized up until seven, which was fine. I needed the boost, the natural high to get me through the day being that I was abstaining or rather, taking a sabbatical from what _used_ to sustain me.

Pulling my lips back against my teeth, I dumped the empty glass in the sink, and chased the bitter aftertaste with a glass of water Hiro had also left out for me.

He popped into the kitchen. It always threw me. For a man his size how quick and quiet he could move. "Ready, sir?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

My cell rang on the counter right when I was about to pick it up. I stared at the name on the screen and froze. In seconds my heart was somewhere in my throat and my dry mouth was sandpaper. Frowning, it pissed me off the power, clout, _weight_ that name still held over me but I wasn't going to succumb. I wasn't going to do anything about the acid in my stomach that I refused to call butterflies. I wasn't going to pay a single speck of attention to anything but moving my ass behind Hiro as he led the way to the underground garage where my car was idling. The whole time my phone continuously vibrated in my fist, and when it eventually stopped I was sliding across leather seats.

Alice Langhorne, my personal assistant since I retired, whipped her head in my direction acknowledging me with a nod while her lips moved a mile a minute on her Samsung. With her busy that gave me time to think, which I shouldn't. At least not what I was about to start thinking about.

My driver, a guy who simply went by the name Maddox pulled off and we were on the move.

Alice dumped a stack of photos with my smiling mug on them in my lap and handed me a Sharpie.

She mouthed, "For the benefit coming up," and picked up her conversation on the phone not missing a beat.

Mindlessly I began signing each one. Willfully I thought of _her._

Meeting her changed everything. EVERYTHING.

It's interesting you think you know who you are once you find your calling. Wrong. She proved I didn't know shit about myself.

I could still see it. The way our bodies collided. The slosh of bourbon that flew out of my glass that doused her feet.

Murder had burned from her eyes as she attempted to shake the offensive liquid off her deliciously cute toes. I fumbled an apology, immediately whipped out a handkerchief, sank down to my haunches, and dried her feet right there in the ballroom. In that moment a strange sense of calm washed over me that I had never felt before. It was almost therapeutic wiping her feet as gently and thoroughly as I could. Hypnotic to the point I heard nothing else.

When I looked back up at her the heat that danced in her eyes that promised castration had dimmed, was replaced by what I could now categorize as promise. Back then I didn't have a clue what she may have been trying to convey. With her feet as dry as I could get them, flushed with embarrassment, I got to my feet, and attempted to apologize once more.

She propped a hand on her hip and said, "I've always wanted to know what that felt like."

A divot formed between my eyebrows as I cocked my head to the side. I was lost. "Wanted to know what, what felt like? Having your feet accidentally soaked in twenty-year-old bourbon?" I snorted.

She smiled then, bit into her full bottom lip. A full bottom lip that matched her dangerous curves. I gulped. Everything about her screamed she was out my league. She appeared to be type of woman who wouldn't be impressed if I told her I played hockey for a living and not as a hobby. I whipped out that card to seal deals and seven out of ten times it worked. NHL players were not as easily recognized as football and basketball players and that was fine with me. My face alone got me all the ass I could ever need. Being a professional sport player added another layer of prestige, but it wasn't always needed.

For that woman I knew without having to ask I'd need _at least_ a Bachelor's to get her phone number.

Upon first glance, she looked ordinary. Thinking back to that first night I wasn't immediately struck stupid the minute my eyes landed on her, but I couldn't deny she was attractive, even if her attractiveness was cosmetically enhanced. Yet her beauty was in her sun-kissed almond skin, her confidence, her smile.

She cleared what little distance had been between us and practically whispered, "Having someone bow at my feet."

I should have been offended by that, but the total opposite happened. I grew rock hard in seconds, must have been a new record for me because my heart dropped out of my chest and landed in my cock. That's how hard it had pounded that night. Needless to say I aimlessly followed her around with my eyes for the remainder of the evening. I hadn't even gotten her name until later. Three weeks later.

Pursuing her wasn't easy. She flung around dumbass excuses in why she didn't want to date me: you're too young, I'm too busy with work to even say 'hi' to a guy, you just want to fulfill a fantasy.

I did but not the one she thought and one I hadn't even come to terms with yet. As I matured, I realized something was missing or that I wanted something I was too ashamed to ask for.

She saw me for what I was that first night. She tested me. Pushed me. All but made me her pet.

And I loved every fucking second of it.

But she left. Never told me why. Never contacted me again. A year of my life dedicated to her every whim and she walked out of it like I didn't mean shit to her. But I supposed she left me with something.

That need was strumming once more. And all it took was a single phone call. Christ.

I sat straighter in my seat. I was starving. I'm not speaking of the kind of hunger you suffer when you've gone more than three hours without eating, but another kind of hunger where the flavor I needed on my tongue was that of leather.

Whatever your proclivities may have been there was a genre for it, and I hadn't touched mine in close to a year.

"Have you heard a single thing I said, Damon?"

Alice's shrill voice cut through my thoughts. I cast a sidelong glance and resumed staring aimlessly out the window. "I heard enough."

As the car bumped along I called Sarah to see how she was doing, to hear her voice, to know I hadn't been sliced out of her good graces. Typical, it rolled to voicemail.

"I know you're still pissed but call me, all right. We're still family even if you hate my guts right now. Call me back, Sarah," I hung up with a partially defeated sigh.

I could feel Alice's raised brow and curious look.

"Everything all right?" my assistant tentatively inquired.

"They will be eventually."

"Sheesh…your hand…what did you…nope who did you beat the pulp out of last night?"

"No one that matters."

"Damon," Alice reproached.

I glared in response. Unfortunately it failed to scare her off like it would have done to anyone else with a shred of self-preservation. I never pretended to be a nice guy or inherently evil, but press my buttons and I was liable to hurt you in the fastest way possible. Character flaw.

"Do you know what you are?" she launched into a lecture I've heard more times than I could count.

"Jesus be a fence."

Alice ignored me and ticked things off with her fingers. "A role model for players still in the league, a figurehead to a generation of hopeful future hockey players, and last I checked a humanitarian. Unless there was another blue-eyed dark-haired man who spent two weeks helping to rebuild houses in the gulf after the latest hurricane ravaged the area. You can't go around getting into random fights with idiots."

"Look," I raised my voice, "it wasn't a random fight and it was one that was long overdue and needed. Rose is abreast of the situation trying to keep it contained which I have my little brother to thank. I know I can't go around hitting people off the ice, but when it involves my family, I don't turn a blind eye to shit that's not right."

"And fighting makes things right?"

"Fighting is sometimes the only language someone knows. I was merely speaking that asshole's language. Now drop it."

My phone buzzed again cutting off any rebuttal Alice might have come up with next. It was _her_ calling again. I couldn't go there. Not now. Not ever again.

I thrust my thumb on the ignore button and handed my phone to Alice.

"Don't give that back to me unless Sarah calls. Otherwise, keep it until the day is over."

She denied me seven years ago when we met. I was going to take pleasure in returning the favor. Even if it killed me. Something better was out there for me. I just had to be patient and not cave.

Never cave.

I was probably gonna cave.

* * *

The day was over and my blood wouldn't stop pumping. My birthday was in six days, and this year I was actually dreading it. I was turning thirty-one.

Birthday wishes were already rolling in. Calls from friends, associates, business people I had only met once. Everyone wanted to know where I'd be celebrating and I dodged those questions because I wasn't feeling it this year. The partying, getting drunk off my ass waking up with a blitzed memory, no thanks. I said goodbye to my twenties and was waiting for my mid-life crises to come and shake up my usual routine.

Shucking my suit for my running gear, I grabbed an energy drink out of the fridge, and took the elevator to the lobby. Those who were running enthusiasts would rattle off the benefits of pounding the pavement, but I wasn't a running enthusiast. I hated it but it did clear my mind if nothing else. I had made it through the day only thinking of _her_ a hundred thousand times to my usual half a million. Five miles would serve as an excellent punishment.

By the time I made it back my body was screaming and my stomach was full of air that my lungs lacked. But that slight discomfort wasn't enough. I had weights up at my place but I liked the gym in my high-rise better. Doing some reps would probably put me down for the night.

"Damn," I cursed when I saw the elevator doors closing. Risking catching a cramp and hobbling like an old man, I sprinted for it and jabbed my hand through, cringing in expectation of the doors actually sealing shut on it.

They rebounded and opened fully. Thank fuck for that and, taking a step inside, I muttered that four-letter word again for an entirely different reason.

I'm thirsty and sore for an entirely different reason, too.

I swallowed and heard my pulse in my ears.

It was like the night I met _her_ but probably a thousand times worse.

The one thing my slowly malfunctioning brain could compute was…She's simply…breathtaking.

 _Dammit Salvatore you've seen girls before, get a damn grip,_ I said to myself like I'm actually going to listen. But she's not a girl I amended. She's a Venus. She's philosophy and science. A sonnet; or I'm just damned hungry and the meal I wanted lied between her thighs. I got over my ineptness and sauntered on the elevator with her like my heart wasn't attempting to pound straight out of my chest.

This was fucking strange but the jolt I had been waiting for.

I was doing everything you're not supposed to do on an elevator. Standing too close, looking at her from the corner of my eye. In my defense I was trying to remember every single little detail. The most significant. The color of her eyes. Green.

"Excuse me," I said as I stretched across in front of her to press the button for the gym level.

I knew I should carry my sweaty ass to a corner, but for whatever reason my legs failed to cooperate. It's been twelve months, maybe even longer since I've experienced that punched drunk feeling, being high without the drugs, warm with the kind of heat only generated between two people who were strongly attracted to each other.

I blinked slowly like I was taking a snap shot and the blood pumping furiously through me went silent before roaring back with a vengeance. In those five seconds where we openly stared at one another, it felt like the first time anyone's really looked at me in weeks. _Really_ looked. I grinded my molars together because I was being ridiculous. My muscles grew taut and I wondered if she could feel it. Feel me. I wondered if she liked it.

The elevator came to a stop on my floor. I wanted to say something. Anything. But from the stiffness of her shoulders, my closeness freaked her out. I couldn't blame her and I wanted to apologize, my tongue however lost all ability to form words.

The rush of air that flew inside once the doors opened was my signal to move, which I did. Like a fuckin' robot. Right, left, right, left.

"Have a good evening," I managed to say turning just enough to get one last look.

I took two more steps and then slumped against the wall. Actually I fell down to my ass. Bringing my knees up I propped my elbows on them, hung my head, breathed.

Who was she? My trembling hands wanted to know.

* * *

She wouldn't budge from my mind. Wouldn't leave me alone. I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Inhaled the air, I smelled her scent. I'm here in my bedroom fucking another woman, but I'm imagining she's _her_. Not old her but new her. I had another run-in with new her. That encounter rivaled what I was currently doing.

Flesh smacking against mine centered my thoughts only periodically, but it wasn't enough to silence the multitude of voices in my head.

I had yet to reach that threshold where pleasure became pain. Then again this was only the first round with Kara who could fuck for hours, one of the few women in my sordid history who could keep up with me.

All too soon my body stiffened. I released a week's worth of pent up frustration in a jet of come that butted up against a latex sheath.

I had to pinch my lips brutally from calling out another name. A name I had forbidden myself from ever speaking aloud, but really a name I didn't even know. Kara screamed, which I won't lie made me come again even if the aftershock registered a 2.0 on the Richter scale. She twitched and jerked and slowly climbed down from her orgasmic high, a soft smile on her flushed face.

Winded, I paused for a second before sliding out of Kara's wet heat. I slowly eased the condom off my softening dick, and the euphoria that just crashed into me vaporized and I was back to feeling moody and restless.

This fuck had been a total waste of my time. Reminded me I was aging and was no closer to achieving any real measure of happiness. I balled the sheet in my fist repressing a silent scream. I wanted to feel something after this gotdamn week, and I felt nothing but frustration.

Climbing off the bed, I dumped the soiled condom into the trash bin and prowled inside the bathroom to shower.

"Damon," Kara whined.

For now I ignored her, pretended I couldn't hear over the roar of me relieving myself in the toilet.

"You do this all the time," her whine turned into a complaint.

I flushed and started the shower, took two steps and I was in front of the sink reaching for my toothbrush.

Kara took it upon herself to join me, leaning her tight body along the doorframe. She's a beautiful woman, but nothing outside of a product of my preferences. I loved women of all shapes, sizes, ages, but doing Kara was more habit than anything else. Did I feel slightly bad for using her? Not really because she was using me too.

Yet she had that look about her that she wanted more, probably envisioning me as hubby number two. Yep, Kara's going through a nasty divorce.

I had nothing against marriage. She wasn't my 'type'.

"What is it, Kara?"

"You're…not yourself tonight," she informed. "You were quieter than usual at dinner, and several times while we were together it almost seemed as if you were picturing I was someone else. Tired of me already, Damon?"

"Of you, no," that's what my mouth said while everything below my neck had a difference of opinion. I only managed to finish what I initiated because of thoughts of _her._ New her who scared me half to death when her nose started bleeding after she tripped and literally landed face first in my crotch.

"Liar," Kara accused and smiled. Her smile took a lot of effort to come off as convincing.

She sauntered into the bathroom in all her naked glory, stood behind me, and draped her arms around my torso. Kara nuzzled her cheek into my back, and I couldn't deny a tingling sensation crawled down the length of my body. Thankfully it didn't redirect to my junk. The stirrings of intimacy were trying in vain to wrap around me, but my inward pessimism drove them off.

The need to be alone was rising and my hospitality had minutes of battery life left.

"It's okay," Kara tried to reassure me but I think more so herself. Women were astute in knowing when they were about to be dumped, ditched for what a man perceived as something better. She knew the end of our fling was imminent.

"What's okay?" I questioned out of a sick need to hear her make a case for herself.

"That you're ready to move on. I never had any notions of this lasting beyond a couple of fun nights and hot weekends. We have history, most of it good, but even I know somethings have to come to an end at some point."

I vigorously brushed my teeth. From our positions it made it impossible to see Kara's eyes, but I heard the threat of tears coming loud enough.

"Kara, there's no one else in the picture," I said after spitting sudsy reside from my mouth.

"Yet," she tacked on.

I said nothing to refute that and went back to brushing. She knew me. Knew my tastes varied as much as my business pursuits.

Her arms dropped and she stepped back. I was finally able to close that last hole in my impenetrable bubble.

"I just hope whoever she is," Kara began, "she knows what she's getting herself into. You've broken your share of hearts, Damon Salvatore. And you know what they say about karma. Many are anticipating the day your heart suffers the same fate as theirs."

I snorted and spat out another wad of sudsy toothpaste.

"Happy Birthday," Kara said as she waltzed out of the bathroom closing the door behind her.

By the time I got out of the shower Kara had dressed and left. I was thankful for it. I appreciated the birthday sex; however, I was done feeling the residual emptiness that flowed once my hook up for the night bounced.

 _Fuck_. One phone call from her—old her, and it had my head screwed up.

"Boss, you have a visitor," Hiro came knocking.

Grimacing, I pulled on a shirt and my pajama bottoms though I should be getting ready to head out for a night of bar hopping with my old teammates. Running the towel through my hair, I cracked open the door. "Who is it?"

"One of your neighbors delivering something from Miss Josephine."

Perfect.

"I'll be out in a minute."

Five minutes later I swaggered my way to the living room where the scent of cheesy noodles hit me far after I caught the distinct fragrance of…perfume. Miss Josephine was constantly trying to hook me up with other female tenants in the building like I was her grandson and she wanted some great-grandkids. I allowed it because shit who didn't miss being mothered every once in a while. But I would have to talk to her about this. She couldn't be inviting strangers to my door. That just wasn't cool.

I heard a gasp before I saw who was standing in my living room. I pretended not to though my curiosity was itching to see who it was. Flicking my towel on a nearby chair and turning my head ever so slowly, I felt my jaw drop though it didn't move a single inch. My nostrils flared, my chest stretched the limits of my shirt as I inhaled, and heat blasted in the palms of my hands.

We just stared. Like we did on the elevator though the intensity had gone up a notch, several if I'm being honest. Wave after wave of feeling crushed me and it took everything I had not to launch myself across the room to touch her.

She was it. I _knew_ it. Like I knew Stefan was my brother, black was my favorite color, and hockey had been my calling. I knew she was what I needed. How could she not be with the way I was feeling? Anxious, excited, terrified, aroused.

She told me her name. I told her mine. I saw the ring on her finger, and though it gave me pause in the end it wouldn't even matter. Fate was gonna happen either way.

Bonnie Bennett would be my dominant.

 **A/N: Did we likely? Being in Damon's head is a difficult place at times. Being in a guy's head can be difficult so I hope I did his POV some semblance of justice. Thanks for reading. Please show this struggling fanfic writer some love in the comments section. XOXO!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hiya! This is Bonnie's POV. Enjoy.**

* * *

He brought the rain with his arrival. The kind that came down heavy and thick, unstoppable. He could be like a four-legged animal in tune with the earth, my fiancé. An insatiable appetite, highkey territorial, and grouchy when tired, or perhaps that simply made him human. In any case, he walked through my doors with his bags, drenched from head to toe.

"Bunny," was all Tyler said before lunging for me, catching me in his arms, soaking my clothes with his own as his warm mouth sent chills wherever they touched.

Wrecked and ravaged, that was my hello.

Standing at the edge of the bed, I watched him sleep on his stomach as I rehydrated my cells. My core throbbed and for a moment I felt like he missed my pussy more than he missed me. He had been distracted, focused on something beyond what was happening on my cotton sheets.

Tyler hadn't been the only one.

He was too preoccupied chasing his nut to realize my bare ring finger. I've officially lost or misplaced my engagement ring. I wasn't looking forward to the confrontation the minute Tyler regained consciousness and noticed.

His left arm flung out. I'm going to assume he's reaching for me. I didn't go to him, curious to see if he'd wake up or merely turn his head away.

The mystery would go unsolved as my cell began ringing. I grabbed it before the volume could wake Tyler. I stared at the name on the screen and debated for a few seconds if I honestly wanted to take this call or not. Being that I was wide awake and in no rush to cuddle my drooling fiancé, I hustled into the living room and parked myself on the couch.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I know it's late," M began without preamble, "but I really need to talk. Is now good?"

M had been drifting in something of a fugue state since her "date" with Mr. Retired Hockey Player. One minute eyes glazed that it actually happened, that she spent hours with Damon, and the next gnawing her thumb and lips petrified she'd never hear from him again. I tried to keep my distance whenever she'd find herself schlepping to my office to question if I'd seen Damon, if he might have asked about her. For six days my answer was a regrettable no. Guilt knotted within me because I meddled where I perhaps shouldn't have, but I wasn't going to let Damon use M. It took next to nothing to hurt her feelings, and it would crush her if she learned Damon wasn't feeling her the way she felt him. I braced myself for the inevitable question, but no matter what, I wasn't going to do Damon's dirty work for him. He would have to talk to M.

"Now is fine. What's the matter? You sound weird."

M sighed for a long time, "I got an email from this girl I used to go to high school with. I haven't talked to her in _years_ and she's asking if she can come for a visit. It's just weird because like I said, we haven't talked in a really long time, and yeah we used to be close, but I don't know. My memories of high school are foggy, but I do remember that every boy I had a crush on, she ended up dating. I think she did that shit on purpose, too."

I sighed a little in relief the issue didn't pertain to my neighbor. I wiggled my bare toes before stuffing them beneath a decorative pillow. It was cold in the apartment. I could turn on the heat but I liked to keep my bills low. Plus, sleeping next to Tyler was like sleeping near a furnace.

"Tell her now isn't a good time for you to have guests. Did she say how long she wanted to stay?"

"She was vague with it. Oh, and now that I'm remembering our friendship," she snorted. "The girl brought drama no matter where she went."

"All the more reason for you to be cautious. I'm pretty sure she was probably hitting everyone up she could think of hoping someone would bite."

"Probably. I just feel kind of bad because I don't think she'd contact me unless she was desperate."

"When you write her back just say you hope she's doing all right. Your charity complete," I added a smile to my voice. "Don't open your home to someone you barely even know who she is now just because you feel sorry for her. At least not without getting more information and promises in writing."

"I know," she sighed heavily and I could tell M was still on the fence about it. Her heart was enormous, and she liked it when people depended on her. But I also knew that wasn't the main reason she decided to hit me up at eleven o'clock at night. "There's something else," she whispered.

"I'm listening."

"Zander's in the hospital."

I sat up. "What's going on?"

"About a month ago he started having pains in his lower abdomen. He finally went to the doctor and well…they think he might have pancreatic cancer."

"Ohmygod."

"I know," M sniffled. "He's having all these tests done and he's scared. I want to go see him, but I don't know if I can. I still miss him."

"You two were together for three years, that's only natural, M. But I think you should go."

"Yeah, I just hate hospitals," she wheezed a tired laugh. "Will you come with me?"

"Absolutely. Just let me know when, okay?"

"All right. I just…I can't think about him not being around, Bon."

"Then don't think about it."

"Yeah," M murmured. "I'm sorry to break this news so late at night."

"It's fine. You're worried and scared. Who wouldn't be?"

M was quiet then finally, "Best I get everything out now so that when I see Zander…I won't cry like he's already gone," she sniffled again.

"When's the last time you talked to him before finding out?"

"About two months ago. His brother had been in town and he invited me to meet up with them for drinks. I didn't go. I regret that," she confessed softly. "Let me stop before I fall down the rabbit hole."

"No, M if you need to talk…"

"If I start I won't stop," she sighed again heavy with sadness. "Let me let you go. Tyler's there, right?"

"He is. Knocked out."

"Un-hun," M said slyly.

"Don't start. You know I'm here for you if you need me."

"I know. Thanks, Bon."

"You don't need to thank me for anything. Love you."

"Love you, too."

We hung up and the back of my head hit the arm of the couch. I hoped for Zander's sake he didn't have cancer. Not many survived pancreatic cancer, but whatever was going on I could only pray it had been caught in time. Hearing about Zander's potential health issues put a few things about my life into perspective. The obvious one being I lived under the myth that I had tomorrow to get yesterday's mistakes right. Nothing was promised to us, and we needed to make each day, relationship, count.

Before we lost everything.

Heading off to bed, I lied on my back trying to turn off my thoughts. At some point I must have fallen asleep, dreaming about hospitals and redheads. When I woke up, Tyler was already alert and tapping my finger.

"Where's your ring?"

Cold. Busted.

"Good morning to you, too," I rasped and pulled the sheet under my chin.

"Morning, Bonnie." Bad sign. He was using my actual name. "Want to explain to me where your engagement ring is?"

I stifled a yawn. "I may have…misplaced it."

"How long ago?"

I winced a little, "I'm not exactly sure."

"Do you make a habit of taking it off?"

Yes, but he didn't need to know I only wore it around specific people, and that it spent the rest of its time cohabitating with my dresser. "Just when I do things around the house. I'm sure it'll turn up. Now, what do you want for breakfast?"

Tyler sat upright and braced his muscled back against the headboard. There was a storm brewing in his obsidian orbs, and the vein in his forehead fattened with blood. More bad signs.

"You're a little too nonchalant about this. Why didn't you tell me as soon as you misplaced it, or should I really be saying _lost_ it?"

"Ty, I'm really sorry I didn't say anything. I didn't want you to be upset and I _have_ been looking for it."

And I had. I thought I might have left it at Cami's office, but she denied seeing it. That snowballed into me accusing one of her clients of swiping it, and my therapist couldn't exactly repudiate the possibility. Cami promised to flat out ask her patients if they may have taken it by mistake. So far, no one has fessed up. In short, I searched my office, my apartment, in every purse I owned, even the ones I hadn't used in a few years. Gone. The ring was gone.

Tyler wagged his head and tossed the sheets aside. "We finally set a date and you lose your fuckin' ring. Unbelievable. I'm beginning to think you're trying to sabotage everything."

" _Tyler_ ," the way I said his name was how I said it right before I disciplined his ass. He recognized it. His shoulders stiffen a little. "I don't sabotage _anything_. I end it. I walk away. I leave. Am I still here?"

He furled and unfurled his fists, clenched and unclenched his jaw. "Yes."

"Louder."

"Yes."

"And that's all that matters. The ring is important, too," I added once seeing he was going to interrupt. "So after we eat we'll look for it together."

"If we can't find it…?"

"Then I'll tie a piece of string around my finger. I'll pay you back."

His shoulders sagged, "No, you don't…you don't have to pay me back. I know you didn't really like that ring. It wasn't your style."

"So why'd you buy it?"

Pink tinted Tyler's olive cheeks. "My ego. The jeweler took one look at me and thought I couldn't afford anything in that place. I had to prove him wrong, bunny."

I wheezed a laughed while rolling my eyes.

"How about after breakfast we get dressed and go and get you a ring you'll actually love?" Tyler offered.

"We could do that or…You can be the one to wear the engagement ring this time. In fact," the idea spurred me sit up on my knees. "I want you to wear a ring. Why do men get to walk around with a bare hand until vows are exchanged? Why do women have to be branded, in a sense, pre-nuptial?"

Tyler arched a brow and I could see he was maybe, sort of feeling the idea. "That's what you want? Me to wear the engagement ring so people know I belong to someone?"

"Yep."

Neither of us blinked. Flinched. Twitched.

"If that's what you want," he trailed off, giving me the chance to interject, backpedal.

I rolled out of bed and sauntered into the bathroom. "Don't I usually get what I want?"

He followed after me and kicked the door closed with the heel of his foot.

* * *

We had gone out to dinner after I had a full day in the editor's room at work. The ring issue still hadn't been completely resolved. My funds were on life support and I couldn't handle another big purchase. Tyler had thrown out getting matching tattoos. I rode the fence on that one.

The lobby of my building was vacant apart from the guard at the front desk whom we greeted. Not that he needed any reason to be in the mood, Tyler pressed his erection against me as we waited for the elevator.

"We should head for the stairs," he groaned in my ear, arms tightening around my waist.

To his chagrin, the elevator arrived.

We stepped on the lift and just as the doors were about to seal, a hand slipped through. My heart flipped then somersaulted. Deja vu. It wouldn't be the algorithm of my life if the world didn't see fit to throw the person I've been avoiding (though it wasn't terribly hard) in my face.

Damon.

Our eyes met and like the first time it was instant awareness. A reckoning, firing of synapses in the brain that lead to excitability with a pinch of wariness. The last time we shared space I had ground my stiletto into his chest; muscle memory from a previous lifestyle. His head tilted and he pulled the classic look you up and down from head to toe. However he did so at a sedate pace with half-lidded orbs. He slid a hand into the pocket of his blade sharp trousers, smiled very minutely.

I did what I could to staunch the fact the cadence of my breathing had changed. Had become slightly labored. That could be the wine, the shots, the late hour, the fact I was snuggled up with my fiancé who was using my neck as a place to rest his lips.

But I knew what it was. His jawline.

"Hey," Damon said to me, looking only at me. Tyler was not here as far as he was concerned. We were alone.

"Hey to you, too."

Tyler's head jerked up. I knew he was glaring at Damon who was now pressing the button for his floor. Once done, instead of scooting to the farthest corner, he remained parked at the doors flirting with tumbling backwards should they spontaneously open.

Twenty seconds may have gone by before his wicked blues traveled to Tyler, "So _you're_ the fiancé?"

Oh God, Damon's tone said loud and clear he wasn't impressed.

Tyler heard that plain as day. His jaw hardened as he stood taller in his Tom Ford loafers. "Question is, who the fuc—" his eyes widened once it registered who he was about to cuss out. "You're…?"

"Unfortunately I'm innocent of a lot of things, but I'm guilty of that," Damon preempted.

"Holy shit! Babe, why didn't you tell me defenseman Damon 'Heart Killer' Salvatore lives in your building?" Tyler's fanboy was officially out.

"Heart killer?" I glanced between my freaked out fiancé and neighbor.

"Yeah, he smashed Lorenzo St. John, another defenseman who played for the Canucks rival team into the boards so hard he literally stopped St. John's fucking heart. Dude had to be carted off to be defibrillated," Tyler explained gleefully.

After hearing something like that you'd expect Damon to be sheepish, embarrassed, but he was actually proud of the fact he almost killed someone.

"Is he still playing? The other player I mean."

My words fell on deaf ears as Tyler thrust his hand out for a bro handshake that Damon obliged.

"Dude's a punk ass bitch," Damon expounded. "Had to learn how respect is earned in the league the hard way."

"Yeah, he can eat a bag of dicks," Tyler readily agreed. "Wow, it's awesome to meet you."

"You, too, man."

Opening created, Tyler attempted to squeeze in as many questions as he could before we arrived on my floor. Damon answered patiently enough, used to the hen picking by fans salivating for any tiny detail he was willing to share. With them together I ordered myself not to compare and contrast. I was spoken for in every way that mattered, could occasionally window shop to admire the merchandise, nothing more. I was mildly worried if Damon would throw up in Tyler's face that we've had several encounters. That the word acquaintance didn't really pertain to us the way it should. He did have enough circumstantial evidence to indict me, to cause sufficient strain between Tyler and myself that could lead to the dissolution of our relationship.

The problem: I wasn't as worried as I should have been.

The ping of the elevator was a welcomed sound signaling freedom from this stifling box.

"Thank you," I mouthed.

Damon barely moved out of the way. I could feel the heaviness of his gaze like a body covering mine, but I didn't run with the bait to confirm I knew he was staring.

"Again, it was good to meet you," the fiancé gushed. "If I had anything for you to sign…"

"Maybe later. How long are you gonna be in town for?" Fishing, Damon was straight fishing.

"Until next Thursday."

"Who knows," Damon barred the sliding doors from closing, "maybe our paths will cross like mine does with Bonnie."

Stone let me introduce you to the bottom of my stomach. I swear white balls of light floated across my vision before bursting.

"Hopefully. Wait, you know I'm here visiting?" Tyler sized Damon up anew. His admiration taking a backseat to suspicion.

"Bonnie mentioned that you work overseas."

"What else has she mentioned?"

"Nothing, let's go," I interjected.

"You two talk?" Tyler raised one brow.

Damon elevated one of his own in return, "Sometimes. 'Hello, how are you?' That kind of thing."

"Oh, I guess that's cool."

"Tyler," I nearly hissed. "I'm sure there are people waiting on this very elevator you two are holding up."

"All right, woman. I'm coming. See you, man."

I tugged Tyler behind me and heard Damon chuckle, which I ignored its reverberating bass.

Once we were locked in my apartment, Tyler shrugged out of his blazer, unbuttoned his shirt sleeves. "He ever hit on you?"

"Damon?" I headed to the kitchen to dump our take home boxes in the fridge. Sphinx flew out of his hiding spot and raced into the living room. If I knew my cat well, he was clawing Tyler's pants.

"Yeah?"

Honestly was always best, "He has."

A beat and then, "Awesome," came out of Tyler's smiling mouth.

"What?" I left the kitchen and plopped down on the sofa. "You think it's awesome another guy hit on me?"

"Another guy, no. Damon Salvatore, hells yeah."

I couldn't be totally surprised by Tyler's reaction. During our sessions he'd tell me how hard it made him, hard with jealously and pride to catch other guys staring at me.

"Retired or current pro athletes are an exception," he elaborated.

"Why's that?"

Tyler danced from foot to foot trying to escape Sphinx who thought it was time to play.

"Dammit, come get your cat, Bon."

"He's having fun."

Shaking the leg Sphinx was tacked to, Tyler managed to dislodge my poor baby to join me on the sofa. The little furball was up and on his stubby feet giving chase, and planted himself right on Tyler's crotch. He growled lowly while I stifled a giggle.

"Back to you being perfectly fine with a man like Damon hitting on me. Explain the psychology of that. Do you see it as a compliment to you that your woman made a blip on the radar of a famous athlete who can arguably have anyone he wants?"

Tyler lifted his shoulder in a noncommittal manner. "That could be part of it."

"The other part or parts?" I curled my legs beneath my bottom.

"If you've seen this man play…" Tyler blew out a breath apparently replaying highlights of Damon's career. "I admire guys who are that hardcore, raw about what they do, what they're passionate about. If he can take his eyes off of that for two seconds to see you," and Tyler stared at me pointedly, "there's no damn point in me getting bent out of shape about it. I know what we have. I know what he wants. The fact he doesn't have a chance, icing on the cake."

"Does that…excite you? The fact other guys quote en quote don't have a chance? Does knowing they'll never taste me like you do get you off?"

"You can't expect me to answer that with your cat on my junk," Tyler laughed.

I scooped up Sphinx who let out a meow of disapproval and I dropped him in his second favorite place in the house, the bathroom sink. He purred and curled himself into a tight ball. I closed the door for added security and came to stand in between Tyler's legs.

"Well?"

He leaned forward, hands scaling up my thighs, disappearing under the hem of my dress. "You don't know how good you are for the ego, Bunny," he kissed my stomach. "Does it drive me crazy that another guy could be trying to fuck around on my turf while I'm gone, hell to the yeah. Do I like that they're envious, you bet your fine ass I do. What gets me off, Bunny is this," Tyler brushed his fingers along my slit. "That they'll never know you like I know you."

I shivered and whispered, "Damon isn't the only one I'm getting attention from."

Tyler's hands stilled. His onyx irises flared. "What?"

I showed Tyler the letters. He read them with a furrowed brow.

"Who wrote you this shit?"

He sounded angry but his dick wasn't. There was tell-tale tentage in his slacks.

"I don't know."

"How long has this been going on?"

"A few weeks."

"Have you written this person back?"

"How would I do that if I don't know who's sending them in the first place? And no, no one has been by the apartment trying to get in to see me, and no I haven't told management about it."

"Why the hell not? Isn't the first phase of stalking, sending a person letters?"

Tyler had a point. But my thoughts never steered in that direction because those letters kept me entertained when work was driving me nuts, and a myriad of other reasons included, but not limited to voyeurism.

"You need to let management know before things escalate. You know what, I'll take care of it," Tyler decided.

"You don't have to."

"I do. If you tried they're likely not to take it seriously; will probably think something's wrong with you for not seeing it as a compliment someone is writing you love notes. Pornographic content notwithstanding."

Again, my fiancé was right on the money. Women, according to society, were supposed to be flattered by unsolicited attention. Calling it out was liable to encourage more harassment.

"What if," Tyler swirled his tongue around his mouth, "what if these are from Damon?"

I picked up a page from one of the letters and jotted to my bedroom where I snatched Damon's hand written notecard that accompanied the bottle of wine he gifted me with to apologize for his conduct in Chicago. Something else I hadn't divulged to my fiancé. I analyzed the scrawls. It was easy enough to see that Damon's handwriting was neater and far more elegant than the author of those letters. If he did actually write the note and not the wine connoisseur.

"Bunny?"

I jumped and pivoted toward Tyler. "I don't think it's him leaving those letters."

"How can you be so sure about that?"

"My gut."

"Your gut could be wrong. I can ask him. Better yet, I'm going to ask him."

"Tyler, let me deal with my neighbor. Your temper…"

"I do know how to control myself. Thank you," he snapped.

"You want to repeat that again?"

Tyler fumed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna let management know about this in the morning. If I happen to see Salvatore while I'm down there…we'll exchange words like civilized adults."

"If he denies it?"

"Then I'll believe him."

I cocked a skeptical eyebrow. Guess that would remain to be seen.

* * *

"Damon invited us to dinner."

That was the first thing Tyler said to me when I walked through the door after running errands and engaging in a diet version of retail therapy. I dumped my reusable sacks on the kitchen table, along with the mail, and my purse. Despite it being Saturday, I had a conference call with the executive producers of the parent company that cushioned Themyscira Films coffers annually. They wanted updates on how their investment was fairing, and I was staving off nervousness because there were production delays out the wazoo on our latest project, which was supposed to wrap at the end of July. It would take a miracle to reach that deadline.

"I have a conference call. But you go for both of us," was the best I could compromise.

If Tyler was disappointed I wouldn't be his plus one he didn't let it show. If anything, a gleam came into his eye and he semi-rushed off to get ready.

He kissed me goodbye thirty minutes later, and told me to text him if I changed my mind.

I wouldn't.

After putting away my groceries and personal products, I got on the phone with Dietrich so we could go over our game plan, ate a sub sandwich and twiddled my thumbs until the unholy trinity—as I liked to refer to Schmidt Rosenthal, Gabriel Mison, and Belinda Murphy—executive producers of Final Cutte Productions. They were friendly enough, personable enough to be yourself at least fifty-five percent of the time. At the end of the day they were strictly about business and numbers.

"Schmidt, Gabe, Belinda what's good?" I said once all parties were on the phone.

"Life, my love," answered Belinda airily. "How are you?"

"We need to talk," Schmidt cut the pleasantries entirely off. Oh god. "I have some… major concerns."

By the time the call ended I was near tears and nauseous. They hated everything, Schmidt more than anyone. The location change, the production design, the director. And since the picture didn't boast stars such as icon legend Elizabeth Taylor, they weren't going to have the set broken down and moved elsewhere. But they were on the bubble of freezing production and restarting at a later date.

Thankfully Dietrich talked them out of it.

"We'll be fine. Once the two of us getting into the editing room we'll have something they…won't totally despise having their name on," my business partner did what he could to allay my fears.

Holding back the bile that was steadily climbing up my throat, I put up a good front. "I need to go and look at my notes. Schmidt is short-sighted about _everything,_ and really has no room to talk considering the last two pictures he produced. Even the landfill rejected them."

Dietrich chuckled like I was out of my mind. "Be that as it may, the wanker's holding the purse strings and we have no choice but to play ball. I need you out here, Bonnie."

"And I'll be there on Thursday. Call me if anything happens."

"Like we're all out of a job? Sure. I'll call."

Dumping my head in my hands again I pondered if being the boss was worth the constant kicks to your self-esteem and worth.

On another note, Tyler had been gone for hours and I was getting worried. He must have sensed that because he came home. His eyes were glazed. A symptom of drinking too much or smoking but there wasn't a cloud of weed swarming him like he was Pig-Pen from _Charlie Brown_. He toed off his high tops, unbuttoned his pants, belched and promptly passed out on the couch.

My cell began ringing. The name on the screen read Tyler. Brow arched I stared at him drooling.

One plus one equaled…

"He left his phone at your place?" I answered.

"Yes, he did," and I thought Damon might laugh, but I was treated to an earful of nothing.

"Its passcode protected and I'm sure it's a felony to break into someone's phone."

"Misdemeanor at best. And I didn't break into his phone. Someone called and I answered. He has you listed as Bunny. Did you know that? Well I guess you probably do know." It wasn't fair, the sensual cadence of his voice. "How are we gonna do this? I come to you or you come to me?"

"You can leave it at the front desk."

"Include another middle man when there's already one too many, I don't think so."

"Damon this isn't a game or funny."

"I know," he deadpanned. "You were missed at dinner."

"Yeah, what did you two talk about?"

Tyler snored loudly, drawing my attention.

"Sports, work, life, whether going vegan is worth it. But that's not what you want to know. You want to know if I pumped him for info about you. I'm happy to report I didn't mention your name once. Though he did bring up something about letters? Writing is not my thing."

I released the breath I had been holding. Guess I could cross him off the list. In what little I knew of Damon, I didn't peg him for a liar. If anything, he was probably _too_ honest.

"I learned something interesting about him," Damon chattered away, "He wants something he's ashamed to say he wants and he misses what he once had, but he hates that his curiosity contradicts who he believes he is."

That gave me pause. "Meet me in the lobby."

Damon grunted a little.

"And bring the phone."

I beat Damon downstairs and ran into none other than Miss Josephine.

"Ah, I've missed you, child," she whispered in that disarming voice of hers.

"Hi, Miss Josephine, how are you?"

"Doing as well as to be expected at my age," her rheumy orbs judged my appearance which made me fidget. Guess the no makeup, hair in a messy bun, leggings and shirt ensemble wasn't doing it for her. "Waiting on a gentleman caller?"

"Something like that. Someone has my fiancé's cell phone. I'm just waiting for him to meet me to return it."

"Ah yes, cell phones," Miss Josephine's wrinkled veneer puckered even more in slight disgust. "No one writes to anyone anymore. Letters I feel are more personal. Hearing a voice over the phone is lovely, don't get me wrong. But a letter that is a conversation you can repeat again and again as many times as you like or need. Well, I won't take up much more of your time. Be well, child."

"You too, Miss Josephine."

I ruminated on what she said about letters. Could she? Nah, and if she were the culprit sending me explicit missives, gross. I had nothing against my elders enjoying the spice of life. I just wanted no knowledge or part in their exploits.

The old woman hobbled away and paused to speak to the person I was meeting. Miss Josephine presented her cheek for a kiss, giggled like a young girl before patting Damon's angular jaw with a gnarled hand. His eyes were on me as he politely side stepped our pseudo Cupid.

I could only assume he changed out of whatever he wore to dinner with Tyler. Damon's short-sleeve shirt was threadbare to the point I saw nipple. And knotted abs if I looked carefully which I diligently tried not to. His jogging pants hung off his hips. Running shoes complemented his attire.

"Going to the gym?" I inquired and folded my arms tightly across my chest.

"Yep. I ate too many carbs."

"You're retired. Don't tell me you still count calories."

Damon shook his head. "Carbs fuck with my sleep cycle," his glacial orbs slid over my body.

That perusal was enough to fuck with my head. Things needed to be sped along. "Okay, great. Where's the phone?"

Damon playfully dangled Tyler's cell and yanked it out of reach when I made a grab for it. He did it a second time. A third.

Exasperated, I sighed heavily, "Give me the gotdamn phone before I lose my patience."

Damon easily coughed it up then tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants. "Were you really busy with work or did you not want to be near me?"

I heaved in a breath, "Do you not remember our last conversation?"

"I remember all our conversations, Bonnie."

So do I, but I wouldn't tell him that. "That's wonderful for you."

His grin was more so a grimace. "Are you gonna give me shit every time we see each other because of the incident with your friend?"

"It was more than an _incident_ ," I snarled. "You asked my friend out under false pretenses. And you haven't called her since."

"I've been out of town."

"Your phone doesn't stop working when you travel."

"Fair point," Damon leaned closer. "However, it's kind of hard to remember to give M a call when all I remember from that night was that moment in my car after winning the race…I wasn't the only one who forgot I had been there with someone else."

Red hot blood scorched my cheeks and I pressed my lips together.

When he stood to his full height it was like air being let out of a balloon. "You made your point and I heard it," he said. "I'm not leading your friend on, contrary to popular belief. I'm not the one lying to someone I supposedly care about each day."

"Yeah, all right. I got what I came down here for. Good night."

I pivoted and headed for the stairs too impatient to wait for the elevator, plus there was no way in the world I was riding on that thing trapped alone with Damon. I hated the way he affected my physiology. My limbs were jelly and I didn't even want to think about what was happening below my navel despite being aggravated by his implication.

I cleared one flight of stairs before hearing the pounding of feet behind me. Heart torpedoing, I stretched my little legs to clear the steps two at a time. I shot up the stairs, turned, shot up more stairs, turned again.

I wasn't fast enough.

A hand cuffed around my arm and I was hauled up to the next landing and pressed against the concrete wall.

"What the _fuck_?" my incredulous voice echoed.

Damon stood mere inches away, breathing hard, barrel chest rising and falling testing the delicate fibers of his well-worn shirt. "I think you misunderstood me. I wasn't slyly hinting you were the one lying every day to the person you care about. Maybe you are," he shrugged. "I meant your fiancé."

My lids fluttered rapidly. "What? Did Tyler tell you something? Did he tell you he was cheating on me?"

Words in any human language failed to describe the sensation that spliced my chest wide open at the thought Tyler was fucking around on me. I had to swallow hard not to wail.

"Believe it or not I care about you, Bonnie."

"You don't know me to care about me."

"I care enough to not want to see you get hurt," he contradicted softly, staring at my eyes then lips.

"You still haven't answered my question," I swallowed thickly. "Did Tyler say he was cheating or had cheated on me?"

In my peripheral Damon dug his thumbnail into the wall, "Why would he admit something like that to a total stranger and especially a stranger who lives in his girl's apartment complex? That would not only make him sloppy but dumb."

A sliver of our earlier conversation came back to me. "You said on the phone that he misses something he's ashamed of. What? What did you mean by that?" I had a pretty good idea what but I wanted Damon to confirm. Confirm my own speculation about _him_ being a submissive.

"That's for him to tell. "

"You need to give me something before I scratch your pretty little eyes out, sweetheart."

Damon had the nerve to throw out a winning smile. "Does the name Tessa mean anything to you?"

I couldn't feel anything below my neck.

Damon's partially gloating façade morphed into concern and then alarm as I felt blood trickle from my nose. "Bonnie? _Bonnie_?"

 **A/N: Thoughts? Questions? Guesses? Thank you guys for reading and reviewing last chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Happy November.**

* * *

I didn't know much about sobriety since I had never been addicted to anything. But I understood how you could struggle with walking the fine edge of normality; how you could be triggered and immediately want to seek out an outlet that would take your mind off whatever the hell was bothering you, screwing with you mentally. How you never wanted to feel pain, only pleasure, all the time without ceasing. Or numb. Letting go of the pipe, the pills, the bottle, the needle, the sex, the lying, the stealing, the high had to be worked at every day, twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five. There were no off days or vacations or paid sick days. You had to deal with your addiction nonstop.

I wasn't addicted to anything. Technically. Yet my life for a time had been about taking care not to put myself in a position to delve into the familiar. Escapism had become my one means of subsistence.

I was convinced blood poured out of me because I couldn't make it pour out of anyone else.

Hearing that name was a setback. It was a name that lingered in the far recesses of my mind. Was the boogeyman living interchangeably beneath my bed or in my closet when I forgot to close the door all the way. It was living matter.

"Jesus, Bonnie," I vaguely heard Damon cry out as blood leaked from my nose. He stood floundering before me unsure of what to do, how to help.

Could I even remember what we had been discussing before? No. Something to do with Tyler but beyond that, I was drawing a blank because my entire focus was not on stopping my bleeding nose, but slamming the doors, reinforcing the locks that kept everything that encompassed the name _Tessa_ from rising to the surface, from undoing months and months and _years_ of therapy had accomplished.

Like with most good intentions it was no use. My stomach cramped violently, and for a second I tasted bile on the back of my tongue. I needed fresh air and space. More importantly, I needed to let the rage out because if I kept it bottled in…

"I-I need to go."

"Let me help you, Bonnie."

"YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH!" I bellowed and because of the acoustics of the stairwell, I was sure my voice could have been heard from the basement to the rooftop.

Damon sucked in a deep breath. I saw his chest rise and fall. He pressed his lips together and moved when I took a step. I glared and he stared right back, unmoved, concerned, maybe even repentant.

"Let me help you back to your place," he bartered in a soft tenor that had a commanding edge to it. "I feel like…this is my fault."

"It's not. This just…happens. I'll be fine," I weakly shooed him off. He refused to budge.

Together we went up to my apartment where Damon fumbled another apology as I closed the door in his face. Tyler was still snoring up a storm. I tossed his phone, narrowly missing hitting him in the head with it as it landed beside him on the couch. I headed straight for the shower. Unable to look at my reflection, I stripped, wiped my nose, cleaned up any traces of blood while the water heated, and the minute the first curls of steam crept their way to the ceiling, I entered the bath one leg at a time.

My shower couldn't get hot enough to warm my chilled skin. I heard a distinctive voice in my ear whisper silkily:

"Marrying won't change who you are. I made you, Bonnie."

Clamping hands over my ears did little to alleviate the playback. That voice but more to the matter the _person_ it belonged to was my villain origin story.

I crawled into bed, curled into a tight ball where my dreams was a mishmash of faceless people presenting me with writing samples, and every single corner I turned Tyler was there, whispering to or listening to the whisperings of _that_ person.

I woke up in a cold sweat running fingers through my matted hair, cursing myself because I forgot to wrap it last night. I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest contemplating making an emergency appointment with Cami. I had yet to use the thirty minutes of free counseling she offered as an apology for my session being interrupted by that nut client of hers who felt entitled to her time whenever he felt like he should have it. If ever I needed an outlet to expose the cracks that had been delivered to my psyche, now was definitely the time.

The sound of groans and things being knocked over caught my ear. Tyler was up and probably searching for water and aspirin. A shred of relief swept through me. I felt less alone with him moving around. It occurred to me I never viewed Tyler as a source of refuge or even protection. He was a man I've known almost all my life so I was blanketed in that sense of familiarity. Anyone else shaken up by something would seek out the person they most trusted. What did you do when someone you thought you could trust did something treacherous behind your back?

Softly he eased the bedroom door open, olive complexion looking slightly green, hair wild, eyes slumberous and red-tinted. "Bunny?" Tyler landed face first on the bed mumbling incoherently before rolling to his back.

Normally this would be the part I'd coddle and scold him for drinking too much, but I didn't have it in me this morning.

"Ugh, I wanna die," he complained and screwed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "Damon had the good shit but never again."

"Speaking of Damon, you left your phone at his place. He returned it."

Tyler murmured noncommittally.

I moistened my dry lips, heart pounding. It would be best to let Tyler sober up before bombing him out, but I couldn't wait. I couldn't bite my tongue about this because he knew how I felt.

"You got a phone call…from Tessa." It was out and the air in the room left. "Why does she have your number?"

Tyler lowered his hands to the bed, didn't so much as move a muscle. "I…" his voice cracked, "I have no idea how she got my number."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! _I_ didn't give her my number. I haven't seen her in years."

Pissed, I got off the bed then, raced out of the room and found Tyler's phone. Seconds later I stood above him, after putting in his passcode and bringing up his recent calls. There it was in bright red lettering. I shoved the phone in his face to which he winced against the brightly lit screen.

"Why is she programmed as _Tessa_ in your phone if you haven't talked to her in years? If you haven't given her your number?!"

Tyler snatched the phone from me and turned it off. "Look, Bonnie my head is pounding and the room won't stop spinning. I don't have it in me to be interrogated with this shit right now," he pushed me aside and locked himself in the bathroom.

Kicking my bed, stifling a scream, I ripped into my closet and threw on what I hoped would pass as acceptable attire for where I was about to go. I couldn't stay in this apartment with him another minute because I was afraid I would beat the shit out of Tyler.

Sphinx meowed loudly when I accidentally stepped on his tail as I made haste to the door. "Sorry sweetie," I croaked out just before slamming the door closed behind me.

For the first time since moving in this building I was going to utilize the gym. The elevator took forever to arrive, and when it did it was blissfully empty. I watched the numbers as I descended down three floors, absently wiped at my nose, checking for blood.

There were a few people spaced throughout the gym, everyone effectively ignoring everyone as they concentrated on their reps and breathing. I tossed my bag, picked out a treadmill and programmed it for thirty minutes. I used to be an active runner. So many things in my life I used to do I fell off, replaced them with other pursuits. This run was about to be hell.

I didn't care.

Sweaty, sore, and limping, I eventually made it back to my apartment where I found Tyler looking contrite as he poured a cup of coffee. He stretched the mug out to me that I accepted though I wanted water instead. That must have registered on my face because he exchanged the coffee for a bottle of water.

Together we sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Sphinx was happily eating his breakfast, purring in contentment. Oblivious of the fact his parents were about to have it out.

For a while we looked at everything but each other. I knew exactly where I wanted to start, but I waited for Tyler to say whatever he thought would automatically fix the situation.

He didn't let me down.

"I've only spoken to her _once_ , Bunny. She called me one day out of the blue about a month or two after we had gotten engaged. I didn't talk to her long because I was working, but I…I saved her number in case she called again and I could ignore it. Block it, but again I was swamped with work and forgot."

"If your intent was to block her number you could have done it after you got off the phone with her," I argued.

"You're right, but again I was busy and it was a knee-jerk reaction because I'm constantly exchanging numbers with people about work. But see," Tyler rose from the table and when he came back he presented his phone to show Tessa's name and number no longer had a place in his list of contacts.

"What did she want when you talked to her?"

Tyler took a sip of his coffee, pulled his lips back from his teeth. "It was so brief I don't remember…"

" _Try_."

He scrubbed roughly at the stubble around his jaw. "She asked how things were going; told me congratulations, told me to tell you she…misses you."

On that my eyes closed and I held still as if someone were aiming a butane torch at me.

"Bunny…"

"All right. I don't want to know anything else. You deleted her number. It's over."

"You're still upset."

I snorted. "Yeah, well it's going to take more than just a conversation and run on the treadmill to make me forget. I need to get ready for work."

Tyler stood from the table when I did. He snagged me around the waist, buried his nose in my neck, scraped his teeth along my skin. My usual reaction to such a blatant invitation was obsolete at the moment. Sex or foreplay wasn't going to remove my aggravation or the kicked hornet's nest buzzing inside my gut. It used to be enough of a salve to get me through to the next hour, to finish out the day, but not today. Not until I met Cami who devised better constructed ways for me to express what was happening on the inside of me.

Sex solved nothing for me.

"Tyler, I'm not in the mood."

"I know, Bunny, I know but if we're going to do this, be husband and wife until death does us part then we can't end arguments with one of us still mad at the other person."

He was right but I wasn't ready to let him off the hook. Sure, it had been an honest mistake on his part, but a mistake that trudged up so many bitter, painful memories for me. Regardless, I slumped against Tyler, let him kiss his way up my neck, let his hands roam, squeeze and fondle, but the second he tried to slip a hand down my yoga pants, I stopped him.

"No, you don't get to touch or taste me today." I left him there pouting and half-hard.

* * *

Wedged between Tyler and one of his coworkers, I was trapped. We yuppies were packed six deep at a corner table in a lofty restaurant in downtown Vancouver the following evening. It was the kind of place you were liable to run into movie stars and TV actors if they had a night off from shooting.

To those drifting by they'd be convinced I was a chick in love. They wouldn't be wrong, but they might not be right about that either.

Every touch should have been confirmation that he was the sole person on my mind. Every kiss, smile, hug should have strengthened what brought us together in the first place. It was genuine from Tyler. It was half-hearted from me. I couldn't get the other night off my mind. Just couldn't shake it.

It only ebbed slightly whenever I looked at one of his coworkers.

Kennedy Langhorne, a raven-haired siren who fully embraced her forties and laugh lines. There was something very Dita von Teese about her. Throughout dinner, my eyes trailed to her. She was an executive at Tyler's firm who laughed loudly, drank beer like nobody's business, and had the most amazing spirit.

Quite a few times our gazes caught and we'd slip into our own conversation about little mundane things, a coded language that was universal to all women. Kennedy was curious about my relationship with Tyler, but possessed the scruples to mind her damn business.

He had been keeping tabs on how long I stared at his male coworkers, our server, random people enjoying this crisp Friday night. If my attention waned too long, he'd grip my thigh or gently pull my chin toward him, ask me a question that more or less gauged if I was thinking about bailing.

After a round or two of shots and a few bites of dessert, I excused myself to the bathroom for a break.

Washing my hands, my reflection in the mirror felt fraudulent. Coiffed and polished right down to the circlet of pearls around my neck. Tyler had suggested it to keep up appearances that he was a dedicated solider in the army of architecture, and me his fiancée came from excellent stock.

Gag me.

I wasn't matronly. The pearls I'm actually interested in are the kind that goes up an ass. What would Tyler's colleagues think of him if I were to let it slip he very much enjoyed me popping anal beads out of his sphincter?

My solitude was cut short when another woman entered the bathroom. It was Kennedy. She halted in mid-stride, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. We traded soft smiles before she ducked into a stall. I thought about bailing so I wouldn't have to make small talk, but I wasn't ready to return to the table to keep up the charade either. I just wasn't feeling being social tonight.

A flush of the toilet, a cough, and Kennedy had joined me at the sink. She ruffled through her purse after washing her hands, uncapped her lipstick tube.

"What shade is that?" I questioned.

"NYX's Transylvania," she popped her lips together. "You don't think it's too garish with my complexion?"

Kennedy was milk-white. She did fit the stereotype of a dominatrix with that lipstick and her all black attire that looked fresh off the pages of _Harper's Bazaar_.

"It looks gorgeous on you."

She held the tube out to me. "Would you like to try it?"

"No, I'm all right." And grossed out. I just met you two seconds ago, lady.

Kennedy smirked and dropped the lipstick in her clutch. She stared at her reflection, scowled then shrugged a moment later.

"You and Tyler are absolutely adorable together. He seems much more…himself with you around."

Needless to say, that caught my genuine attention, "How is he when I'm not?"

Kennedy wiped excess lipstick away with her finger. "Like any other worker, I suppose. Intensely focused, combative on occasion. He…makes a lot of hearts flutter."

The flutter could be in lust or fear. I was willing to place my money on both. But Kennedy wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I knew she was leading me, almost pushing me to ask for dirt and gossip on my fiancé about who he lunched with on an entirely too frequent basis. How late did he truly stay working in the office. Did he ever get missing with no explanation to his absence, or show up late for meetings, sweaty and disheveled smelling of sex.

"He doesn't smile as often," Kennedy exposed. "For a time I thought it might be general homesickness. You two talk often?"

"We talk enough," and that was all I was going to tell Kennedy. "We should get back out there."

She shadowed me as we prepared to leave, but she reached out and shut the door. I looked at her over my shoulder, brow raised.

"Tyler is an exceptional man, but I know he's the lucky one." Kennedy fingered one of my curls. "D'you think he'd…"

"He'd what?"

"Are you into women as well, Bonnie?"

I turned around, placed my back against the door. Kennedy was beautiful and for a second I allowed my mind to imagine her nipples in my mouth, mine in hers, our fingers seeking hot, moist folds. But the fantasy stirred nothing besides the desultory rush of arousal. Not need or want. "In another place, in another time."

Kennedy smiled but there was no mistaking her disappointment. She extracted a card from her purse, "If you ever change your mind."

I didn't accept it. "That'll never happen and you know why."

She conceded with a look. "Can't hurt to ask, I supposed."

Dinner stretched until I was openly yawning at the table.

"Tired?" Tyler stated the obvious.

"It's been a long week."

"Let's head on home."

I didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Television on, in live, living color a man stood in the shower, close ups of his body proved he was a connoisseur of building and maintaining muscle mass. Soapy white bubbles mingled with water and sluiced down his hard stomach, bulging arms and sculpted legs. His veined hands rubbed soap in slow circles with the camera following their every move. Slowly panning down, down, down past the navel, below the carved V, and the column of raised, hardened flesh. His hand closed around the shaft of his erect penis, stroking it lovingly, pulling and teasing before caressing the circumcised head tinted a dark rose in color. The camera panned down further and the faceless man's scrotum came into view. Pert, hairless, and voluptuously round like two perfect golf balls they hung. The man cupped those and then, his finger went missing between his firm ass.

I paused the recording shaking my head while scribbling notes for the director furiously. Themyscira Films was about making titillation within in reason, not outright porn. There was no way the film I was previewing would be slapped with anything less than an NC-17 rating. At the thought of the fight I had on my hands with the director, I felt a headache coming.

Tyler was gone and I was relieved about it. He had hopped on a plane to Mystic Falls to go spend a couple of days with his parents. He'd asked me to come but I used work as a viable and legitimate excuse to finagle out of being his travel buddy. From Virginia he'd then be making his way across the Atlantic back to Germany to work out the remainder of his contract.

I had also received another smutty letter from my anonymous admirer, which I tossed in the trash. Seems Tyler's talk with management had been ineffective, or they didn't give a shit. I'm putting my money on the latter. Nevertheless, ever since last week I've had no sex drive; my libido was in the fucking pits and I couldn't say I missed it. Tyler did, but he made do with a few handjobs. Besides, anytime he touched me, my thoughts trailed to places I ardently wished they'd stopped going once stress became too much.

My cell vibrated. Dietrich was calling.

"You haven't forgotten have you?" he began without preamble.

"No." I had no idea what Dietrich was talking about. His heavy sigh let me know that I had been caught in a lie. "Okay, what?" I shoved the notes aside.

"Neibrum Ball."

It clicked. The Neibrum Ball was a celebration of the local arts. "Right. We have tickets. That's tonight?"

"Bonnie, I swear your memory is full of wank sometimes."

I inadvertently stared at what was frozen across my TV screen. "Shut up. I'm getting dressed. I'll be ready."

"Yeah, right. Open your door."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

A knock sounded.

"What did you do?" I asked as I cautiously headed for the door. I looked out the peephole spotting a delivery man. I opened the door and signed for the zipped garment bag.

"I need you looking fabulous tonight," Dietrich griped conjuring images of Daniel Craig as James Bond in _Casino Royale_ telling Eva Green's character, Vesper, the same thing _._ "I'll be at your flat to pick you up in one hour."

In exactly one hour I was opening my door again for Dietrich Thames.

He forewent wearing a traditional neck or bowtie and opted for a white and black paisley ascot to go with his tailored threads. Dietrich was textbook handsome, reminding me of an English version of Odell Beckham Jr. sans faux hawk. He could have you under his spell, eating from the palm of his hand with one look.

He whistled as I twirled showing off the fruits of his pre-planning and generosity. The dress was a deep satiny green Monique Lhuillier that flowed like water around my legs and left my arms bare. Makeup and hair done, we left.

The rain came down as it often did, slicking the roads making the otherwise dull surfaces shine. Dietrich pulled his Mercedes to the curb. "I'm letting you out here while I find a car park. Wait for me at the entrance."

Climbing out, I used my clutch as an umbrella and raced to stand under the awning. A flicker of red-orange caught my attention and I spotted a man leaning against the front of the hotel some fifteen feet away. The light from the match caught his face in beautifully sharp shadows and my pulse thumped because I thought it might be Damon.

It wasn't.

Ten minutes later Dietrich rushed inside brushing droplets of rain from his overcoat which he checked. He presented his arm that I happily looped with mine.

Facing the networking juggernaut, the doors parted, my hand trembled, and my breath caught. Not because of the interior, grandeur, the semi-romantic vibe in the air. A woman was nervous of making a colossal idiot of herself in a sly attempt to finagle spoils for her fledgling company. Thoughts pummeled me. Was I as smart as I believed myself to be? As witty? As assertive so not to be mistaken for a wet-nosed nobody who should learn her place? The last thought lit my fire.

My business partner placed his hand on the small of my back. "Breathe because you look ready to vomit."

"I am," I admitted.

Dietrich smirked, stretching his whiskered chin, dapper in his black tux.

Together we cleared the archway and got lost in the masses of loitering artists, lovers of art, financiers, and bustling wait staff.

Dietrich took my hand and led me through the crowd. We nodded hello but kept it pushing for the most part. It was strategy. Dietrich and I never dove head first into smooching, or kissing ass. Not within the first hour. People were often busy saying hello and gabbing with old friends or acquaintances and had no ear for business.

Instead of diving into the fray to impress with our extensive knowledge on who was who and owned or did what, my partner and I utilized the time to do reconnaissance. It was much better than standing in a corner hoping to be seen as interesting enough to chat with.

Our target for the night was a tech tycoon by the name of Milton Dowler who donated generously to the arts. The twice divorcee of three kids and a dog, he was a lover of French and Russian composers and served on the board of a ballet company. I was hoping he'd be open to expanding what he supported by funneling either his cash or those of a friend or two to support a company determined to spotlight the stories of the marginalized.

Fingers crossed.

My assistant Anna was here as well two other employees, and my intern hustling on Themyscira's behalf. In a few I'd check bases with them to see if they drummed up any interest with possible investors.

Dietrich led me to the center of the room and we began dancing.

"As expected all eyes are on you, love."

I kept mine firmly planted on Dietrich, flashed a here and gone smile which made him frown.

"Are you all right? You've been uncharacteristically quiet."

"Not all the time am I on, Dietrich."

"Yes, we all get into pissy moods from time to time but tonight isn't the time for it. If something's the matter, you can talk to me."

"I think I see Milton," I deflected.

"Bonnie."

"I'll be all right, Dietrich. Now spin me away."

I couldn't exactly get close to Milton as surrounded as he was. So I circled the room, stopping every now and then to exchange pleasantries, handed out a few business cards.

Finally he was alone, scrutinizing the hors d'oeuvres.

"Mr. Dowler?"

"Yes?" he spun from the table, adjusted his glasses, eyes widening almost comically. "Yes?" he said more slowly this time and extended a hand.

"Bonnie Bennett, mind if I bend your ear for a while?"

I bent and bent and bent his ear. Milton told jokes that were semi-funny, ogled my breasts more than I would have liked, but kept his hands in respectable places as we took a turn around the floor. He had accepted my card, tucked his into my hand and made me promise three times (so it would stick, according to him) that we would get in touch for lunch.

My fingers slid out of Milton's as I twisted to leave him. With my arm still extended behind me, fingertips just clearing a future benefactor, my tits crashed into a Brioni covered chest. Not given the chance to say one word, a hand cupped my cheek, tilted my chin, and lips were on mine.

What. The. Fuck?

The offender pulled away as soon as our lips touched, but the kiss lasted long enough for me to know his taste. Bourbon and something else that was equally as potent.

Hyper blue eyes bored into me, and it took a second for pieces of his face to come together to make a coherent picture. I knew that chin, those brows, that sharp nose.

"Are you—"

He pressed me closer, his hold slightly possessive, and once again his mouth moved against mine. This kiss was deeper but was still chaste. When he ended it, our lips quietly smacked apart. He whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry but I need your help."

* * *

Everything about Damon Salvatore was imploring me not to go off on him. And it was a fight not to because we were in a very public place with the kind of people where you could go from darling to pariah in a nanosecond. His hand was still on my cheek that he brushed the pad of his thumb across probably to simmer down the rage coursing through my veins.

It was jarring enough he was here. Then as I thought about it, it almost made perfect sense. Temptation always knew when to rear its meddling head. I discounted that and focused on the main issue. He tasted my mouth without permission. Not only was it wrong, but old me, domme me, would have flogged him for the offense. Our bodies, though, began their own conversation, and nebulously I was aware we were swaying from side to side.

Flatly I said, "You have five seconds to explain before I bury my knee in your balls."

Damon visibly winced, "You see the woman behind me? Long brown hair, brown eyes, silver dress?"

I discreetly tilted my head at a better angle to see. There was a woman who fit that general description, her unsmiling façade was deeply puckered.

"What about her?"

"Until this song is over…I need you to pretend you're with me, that you're mine."

Automatically I laughed. "You are out of your mind. Why would I do that?"

"Because," Damon bit out through tight lips, "she thinks I'm playing hard to get so I need to prove her wrong."

"Can't take no for an answer?"

"No, she can't."

"So to get rid of her you force yourself on someone else?" my brow arched.

His skin flushed. "I'm sorry about that."

I could tell that he was. It didn't make me feel any better. I just hoped none of my associates saw what he did, because it would take nothing but one glance for this entire situation to be misconstrued.

We did a ball change and now my back was to Damon's thirsty admirer. He dipped me without warming, brought me back up slowly, noses just an inch apart.

"I know this won't make up for taking liberties," Damon arched his back so we could make eye contact, "but you're beautiful in that dress. You're beautiful no matter what you wear."

"I'm still engaged," I blurted.

His little lips ticked up at the corner, a crescent line appearing like a parentheses bracketing a mouth that had a way of angering and…doing other things to my sensibilities it really shouldn't.

"Damn," he laughed wryly. "Guess I need to work on my homewrecker skills."

"Was that your goal by inviting me and my boyfriend to have dinner with you, by trying to insinuate something about him which you never did clear up, or divulge any real details about? To be a homewrecker?"

"You never asked him?"

"What was I supposed to say? Look, it doesn't matter. My relationship is none of your business. And…" I wrestled away from him as calmly as I could as not to draw attention. "The song and this dance are over. Your stalker is gone."

Damon checked behind him just to be sure. He inclined his head. "Thank you for saving me from an overzealous fangirl. As far as the kiss…let me make it up to you. Let me apologize."

"I don't need another expensive bottle of wine sent to me."

"Good because I wasn't thinking of sending you wine."

Folding my arms, I muttered, "I shouldn't even be entertaining you right now."

"But you are." The smile in his voice was evident even if he himself weren't smiling. "There's a tea house right next door to this hotel. Share a pot of tea or coffee, and I'll tell you everything your fiancé and I discussed. How's that for an apology?"

Taking a step back from Damon I wagged my head. "As nice as that sounds, I can't leave. Not yet."

Disappointment wrinkled his brow that smoothed a second later. Damon stuck his fists in his pockets and found something else interesting to staple his gaze to before staring at me once more.

"I'd offer to wait but intuition is telling me you'd find another excuse to postpone or get out of sitting across from me at another table, basking in the intimacy that comes with sharing food and drinks with someone."

That was eloquent and also made my eyes narrow in suspicion. He said he hadn't been the one sending me those erotic letters, but Damon could have lied about it to save face. I know I said I didn't peg him for a liar. However, I knew nothing about him apart from the sides of his personality he had shown. Being a public figure and working with actors and actresses they donned masks from time to time to protect their identities, their true selves, pieces of their psyche they didn't want the world to examine, mock, or pick apart like roadkill. I didn't know this man, but at the same time I felt he and I shared a secret, things in common.

"You have a tendency to reveal things when we break bread," I reminded.

"And I've been told I'm guarded."

Since he decided to be bold by kissing me (a kiss I refused to think about), I figured why not repay his kindness. I dared to come closer to Damon, even as the pleasant smell of his cologne inspired thoughts best left to be written on paper or filmed on camera.

He moved in such a way, cinching the space separating us that it almost felt like he was wrapping himself around me. His eyes were so big and blue from this distance, getting lost almost seemed required when looking at him. Yet, in my mind, I imagined there was a plate of glass between us. I could see him, see my reflection, and see the two of us blending together.

"For a submissive such as yourself you'd have to be…guarded."

His chest rose higher, and I heard the breath that inflated his lungs and left through his nose. Twin pink dots bloomed on his cheeks, and his lips parted revealing teeth. I could give him a command right now and he'd obey. He would fall to his knees, bow his head, wait for instructions, wait for me to tell him it was okay to get hard, make him beg just to smell my twat. The thought of that was _so_ intoxicating my head nearly swam for a minute. The things we could get into if I were…

No.

That wasn't my life anymore and I was in no position to do anything.

We were both breathing so hard.

I stepped further away. "Good night, Damon."

He didn't let me get far. Damon flattened against me, his chest supporting my back. People milled around us, oblivious. The tempo of everything seemed to change when Damon put his lips to my ear.

"You need to let off some steam. I can tell. You're wound so tight you could scream. I'm offering myself to you… _mistress_." My nostrils flared. He kept going. "Gag me, restrain me, flog me, ride me. _Punish_ me for what I've done tonight. Use this on me," he reached for and uncurled my fingers, traced the palm of my hand. "It's up to you. You know where to find me."

Damon melted into the crowd and I simply melted with need.

 **A/N: Many guessed Tessa was Bonnie's dom name, nope. It is an actual person. Who? It will be revealed shortly. So Bamon has revealed their dom/sub cards to one another, will she actually take Damon up on his offer? If you want more, please let me know. Thank you so much for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Happy Birthday to these troublemakers: venusnv80, roplusglam, and Ian Somerhalder.**

* * *

Shaken and not stirred vodka sloshed out of the martini glass I hastily grabbed off a passing tray. I ignored the sound of it splashing on the floor and hoped that I didn't get any on my dress.

Damon Salvatore's proposition was a thriving pulsation in my head. The boldness, the clarity and simplicity of it so there wouldn't be any misinterpretations made my lips twitch as I fought with everything I had not to smile. I wouldn't equate his words to the devil sitting on my shoulder trying to entice you, or even the angel doing its level best to steer you clear of the path of destruction. Merely, he was my own yearning manifested in a baritone tenor, spoken in a dulcet tone that stirred the lid that kept everything in the past contained.

Every second I replayed his infamously spoken words I grew hot as if I put my hand on a stove.

"Hey, boss," Anna approached me, her little hips swaying in the flirty black cocktail number she rocked. "I managed to schedule two lunch meetings for you with potential sponsors," she beamed proudly; her full cheeks streaked with an iridescent highlighter that caught the light and nearly blinded me.

"That's excellent, Anna," I gave her a fist bump. "Who're the potentials?"

"Roy Corrigan who is a founder of a literacy program, and Kennedy,"—that name caused me to tense—"Bandu who is a top executive at a personal care company."

I released a barely perceptible sigh of relief that the Kennedy Anna mentioned was not the same Kennedy from Tyler's firm who inquired, in a five-star restaurant bathroom, if I would be up for a dalliance. As good as it would be for anyone willing to open their wallets to ensure that Themyscira wouldn't be closing her doors, I had a strict policy on whom I borrowed from. Close acquaintances of Tyler's, absolutely not. My family, only in dire situations. Tyler's family—never.

"Point them out to me so I can introduce myself," I stretched on tip-toe to try to get a lock on who those potential benefactors might be.

Anna did and I waltzed off to do what I did moderately well. Flatter.

The gala ended at midnight more or less. I kicked off my heels the second my bum landed in the passenger seat of Dietrich's ride. "Adore You" by NAO streamed from the speakers. The lyrics sunk into my pores, cleansed the areas that had been disrupted, settled everything down. I hadn't had any more run-ins with Damon. He seemed to have vanished and I refused to feel disappointed about that.

Dietrich was speaking and I gave him my ear.

"Anna told me about the two meetings she set up with sponsors," there was censure in Dietrich's voice. I didn't need to ask that he'd been hoping for more and better prospects. "We need more than product placement if we hope to produce more work."

"I know that, but it's something and we can use every piece of 'something' we can get our hands on."

"Not arguing with that, unfortunately my expectations were not met," he palmed the steering wheel as he made a left turn. "How did things go with Milton?"

"I wasn't able to secure an exact meeting, but I have his information. He has mine. I don't think convincing him to meet for lunch to hear our sales pitch will be difficult."

"He wants to shag?" Dietrich stared at me askance.

"Probably," I muttered dryly.

Dietrich let out a snort of laughter. "The next two weeks are going to be hectic. I'm flying out day after tomorrow, and we have the conference call with the unholy trinity sometime tomorrow afternoon. I need you on top of your game."

A flare of annoyance swept through me. "You saying I haven't been?"

"I'm saying you've been distracted but putting up a good front to hide it. If you're losing interest in your own venture—"

"I'm not," I frowned.

"—you need to remember why we're doing this. What we're trying to achieve here. It's not just about you or me. There are tens of dozens of people looking to us to keep them employed. I know I can be a difficult little shit from time to time, but at the end of the day I want us to be successful."

"So do I. I haven't forgotten, Dietrich. I don't _ever_ forget."

"Good," he paused and I could tell he was considering whether or not he should say whatever thought popped up into his head. "Where's your ring, Bonnie?"

"Misplaced," I twisted the skin of my ring finger until it started to hurt. "Everything's fine. Tyler and I are still engaged."

Dietrich tutted but said nothing else. The music streaming from the speakers filled in the cloying silence between us. I worried for a second if my business partner had caught the kiss Damon laid on me. Dietrich operated with prejudiced diplomacy, at times, but other times he didn't care if you were in the mood to hear about yourself, he was going to drag you back and forth and back again if he suspected or outright knew you didn't have your shit together.

"You would tell me if something was wrong, yeah?" he asked eventually.

I traced the hills and curves of his profile. "Yes, Dietrich, I would."

He seemed pleased and satisfied with that, and then launched into how his night culminated in finding himself having to mediate a quarrel between two rival ballet dancers. Twenty minutes later he pulled up in front of my building.

"Right, then. I'll see you in the office."

"See you, Dietrich. And thank you again for the dress."

He nodded and finally graced me with that award-winning smile of his.

It took me an additional fifteen minutes to actually step out of Dietrich's car as we finalized some last minute details for the upcoming work week.

Naturally my stomach would start growling the second I waltzed through the doors of my high rise. I had only managed to nibble on a few of the tiny little morsels of finger foods at the gala, and probably drank more glasses of champagne than I should have. Whatever buzz I had going had fizzled and I was once again too wired to head straight upstairs. Plus, in five minute intervals that kiss replayed in my thoughts like a commercial. The phantom sensation of Damon's lips ebbed and flowed like the changing tide. He had left an indelible mark. A mark I wasn't so ready to erase with soap and water.

I headed for the in-house deli that stayed open until 2 a.m. to pick up a late-night snack.

It was unsurprisingly busy. It was Friday night after all. Some were probably on their way to the clubs and needed something on their stomach to soak up the incoming alcohol, many more were food junkies. My heels clicked noisily on the slippery tile as I surveyed the food stations trying to decide what I had a taste for. Since it was late I didn't want anything too heavy but I also wanted to feel full. So I went with a safe choice and caught sight of a familiar figure.

Figures.

With his back somewhat to me I gave him a long, leisurely look. Taking liberties. He had impeccable posture, chest up, shoulders straight, arms bent at the elbow, hands in his pockets. He didn't fidget or sway from side to side to stave off nervous energy, and I wondered if he had any military training because of how still he was. He was rooted like a palm tree, like a sun and everything else revolved around _him_. I discarded the notion of him serving in the military. He wouldn't have had time since he entered the pros before graduating college. No. His strong, still and silent stance was indicative of his _submissive_ training.

Absently I licked my lips.

People flitted around casting him surreptitious glances doing their best to pretend they weren't in the same place as a local hockey legend. Maybe legend was overkill, but he was famous, and any proximity to fame no matter the level gave us simple mortals a boost, a small taste of the divine.

Damon waited patiently for his homemade pizza to bake in an actual wood burning oven. The smell of melted mozzarella, marina sauce, peppers, onions, and thinly sliced pieces of Italian sausage if I were scenting properly made my mouth gush as I petulantly stared down at the cobb salad and turkey club sandwich I picked up.

I paid cash, thanked the cashier and bustled over to a table to enjoy my food. My ears twitched when he said 'thank you' to the chef who boxed up his meal. Then I heard him apologize for bumping into someone. Unable to help myself, I looked. Of course it would be a woman who more than likely put herself in a position to be bumped into. Not that I could blame her. My heart spiked when Damon, in the snap of the fingers, went from staring at the woman to gazing at me. Intently. I quickly turned back to my food knowing it was far too late.

Robotically I ate, inserting food into my mouth, chewed, swallowed. I did that all the while anticipating his approach.

Every footstep drawing nearer was like a klaxon blaring. Seek shelter. Get to some place safe. Do not linger because if you do you'll be blown to bits.

His crotch filled my peripheral and I lost interest in feeding my dietary appetite.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Slowly, I met his stare. "Sit…or kneel?"

A corner of his mouth twitched. "I'd like to sit…for now. If it's all right with you?" the octave of his voice dropped, boarded on suggestive.

Tense silence followed as he awaited my verdict, my permission.

I kicked out the chair across from me. "Park it so we can talk."

He smothered a laugh by biting into his upper lip, folded his tall figure into the chair as he placed his pizza box that was staining with grease and a tall bottle of S. Pellegrino on the table. Damon scooted the chair close enough his knees brushed against mine. I didn't move or shift them out of the way. Contact built connection.

"Thank you for letting me join you."

I inclined my head, daintily shoveling more food into my mouth.

Damon flipped the lid of the box, picked up a slice of heavenly smelling pizza. "How was the rest of your night?"

I said nothing. Just watched as he folded the slice into a U shape and bit off more than half of it in one go. My eyes lowered to absorb the way his jaw worked as he chewed. His eyes drifted away.

I pushed the romaine lettuce around with my fork. "My night was productive. Business wise."

"Right-right, you own your own production company. Have any movies coming out?"

"One is close to wrapping and going into post-production. We're hopeful for an October release, November by the latest. Another is in pre-production. I want to get two more projects off the ground, but unfortunately I don't have the manpower or capital to do it. _Yet_."

Damon wiped his mouth and then…began unknotting his tie. "I don't know much about the movie business, but if you need anything," as he unknotted the tie, the longer end he wrapped around his fist, "I'd be more than happy to help."

I sat straighter, never once looking away from his fist now wrapped in black silk. Damon lifted his bound hand and let the tie unravel like an orange peel soundlessly to the Formica surface of the table. Suddenly I pictured taking that tie and bounding his wrists to his ankles leaving his tight little puckered rosebud hole open for anything. A fist. Beads. My fave strap on cock.

I picked up my juice and chugged. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you," I answered after hydrating my parched mouth. "But I think you've made enough offers to me tonight."

He popped the top button of his shirt open, "I don't."

I glanced at the hint of collarbone before looking him directly in the eye once more, "Not afraid about things becoming one-sided?"

Damon demolished another slice of pizza. "You get taken for a ride a couple of times, you slowly start to learn how to discern who to trust and who the fuck to stay away from. Makes life easier when you learn to listen to your gut."

"Hmm, and how many years did it take _you_ to master that?"

That crescent line appeared near his mouth which he licked clean of any wayward crumbs of food. "A couple of decades," he replied wryly. I chuckled in kind. "Some say we learn from experience. I believe its part of it, but I also think we learn mostly through observation."

His knee pressed into mine, deliberately, after he said that. I knew what he was hinting at. He observed me and came to the conclusion I was a dominate. I observed him and saw the submissiveness permeating from his pores in just enough doses there'd be no mistaking it if you knew what to look for. Even now we were feeling one another out, reaffirming what we learned and knew about each other thus far. It was a game. The game of attraction and I needed it to stop.

But…

"Wouldn't you say," I countered, "that our observation can be skewered by our perception of what we _think_ is occurring not necessarily by what actually _is_?"

"Of course. I never said that learning made anyone infallible."

"And I never implied that you had. See?" I winked at him.

He guffawed and took a sip of his drink.

"So how do you figure you can trust me with something like your…money?" I placed my elbows on the table, using the back of my hands to prop my chin. "I could be running a scam, claiming to run my own business when what I really do is clean out the pockets of those gullible enough to believe me."

"You could, but you're too honest to lie."

"You think I'm honest?"

Damon leaned over the table, coming closer, "You're honest because you want people to trust you with the parts they can't reveal to anyone else."

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose sky high. There we were again, superimposing our visages on one another until there was no telling us apart. But I couldn't let Damon know he was on to me. I cleared my throat, "Are you sure you're not projecting?"

"Maybe I am," one dark brow arched. "Maybe…what I see in you, Bonnie I see in myself."

Those goose bumps were encompassing my shoulders and arms now. "Maybe you want to."

"Or just maybe we want the same things in life but we're getting them from the wrong people."

Our breathing changed, synchronizing as we appraised each other. The longer I stared at him, the rosier his cheeks became and it was a fascinating thing to behold. This virile and powerful man coming undone by the mere thought of me giving him what he craved. Inappropriate thoughts fluttered through my head at such a rate I could barely swallow. Damon seemed to be suffering the same, as his chest rose higher and higher with each breath, and his pupils dilated like a cat's right before they were ready to pounce on their prey. I refused to let it have any outward effect on me, ignored my pounding heart and the corresponding beat in my clit. Betrayal. Traitor.

Damon wiped his mouth. "I know it's far too early but…have you thought any about what I said to you tonight?"

"I think you're dangerously close to crossing a line. Actually, I take that back. You _did_ cross a line tonight. Several. You know my situation."

"I do. Trust me. I'm doing everything in my power to be respectful."

My head tilted as I eyed him skeptically. "Are you really?"

I shoved my food aside. Damon followed suit. His ridiculously blue eyes dipped to my left hand. It had been more than popular tonight. Damon had the perfect opportunity to make light of the fact I wasn't wearing my ring. He could launch into a cross examination, butcher me with question after question to eek out its whereabouts, suss out the meaning. For whatever reason he didn't take the bait.

"If you honestly knew me, you'd know that I've been on my best behavior with you."

"Really? What are you normally like when you're not trying to be respectful? Controlling? A bully? An arrogant jerk who feels entitled to something simply because you exist?"

He shrugged an insouciant shoulder, tapped his blunt nails on the table before cracking his knuckles. "Humans are a complex species. We can be all three, none of the above, interchange based on the situation. I'm a red-blooded retired athlete. Never claimed to be a saint. But no, I don't think I deserve something just because I exist. No. I think I deserve something if I put in the work to earn it."

"Good answer, but I can't help but be confused. You want me, a woman engaged to another man to degrade and humiliate you. Why do you want _me_?"

Perhaps having this conversation in a residential deli wasn't the best place to hash it out, but going behind either of our respective doors could lead to potential disaster. At least on my end. I was in no position to offer or accept anything outside the bounds of platonic friendship. But this man was testing my resolve. He was pushing without laying a hand on me. He was bending the straw. He was opening a door and welcoming me in with a cinematic smile.

"Let's go upstairs to talk about this," Damon bartered.

"No. We're going to express ourselves right here," I tapped the table with my index finger to emphasize my point.

He swallowed and surveyed our surroundings probably checking to see who was in range of overhearing. Knowing him, Damon was more than likely hoping an enthusiastic fan would interrupt to gush and plea for an autograph and a selfie.

With him partially distracted I picked up his tie, admired the quality of the silk, caught a whiff of his aftershave. It was the kind that would linger on your skin a solid hour or two from a steamy embrace. Damon did a sort of double take when he saw his tie in my possession. Riveted, he was absolutely riveted. I pulled a section of it between my fists to assess its durability, strength, let it whisper between my fingers. His expression did all the talking when I slid that section of fabric between my teeth and bit down. He groaned a sound that rumbled with need. One hand snaked under the table and I knew he adjusted himself. He wasn't alone. My panties weren't bone dry, either.

"Let's go upstairs, _please_ ," he urged.

"You will sit there and you will answer my question…pet."

His cheeks flushed fire engine red. His nostrils flared and his chest expanded. Even his molars clenched. I could tell from the muscle at the corner of his jaw that flexed. Damon was a bowstring and I was tuning him just right. Sweat began to accumulate above my upper lip, and I squeezed my thighs together knowing it would cause the right amount of pressure on my clit.

I moistened the seam of my mouth. His eyes dipped momentarily to watch the movement of my tongue lapping from one corner to the next.

"Ohmygod are you Damon Salvatore!"

Both of our heads whipped toward the soprano voice. A girl probably no older than sixteen with braces hopped from foot to foot grinning.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt but are you him?"

Like a switch had been flipped he went from a seducer to a charming public figure happy to give five minutes to an adoring fan. His smile was slow as molasses, void of any flirty undertones. I was happy about that or else I would have lost respect for him.

"Guilty as charged," he answered.

The girl squealed and launched into a dissertation about how she followed his career since she was inch high to a grasshopper, and lamented that he no longer played. Damon patiently listened, provided a soundbite here and there. It was very much afterschool special, but it was touching to watch.

"I don't have anything for you to sign but would you mind taking a selfie with me? Please?"

"I'd love to."

The girl squealed again and giggled nervously as she dug her phone out of the pocket of her hoodie. She futilely tried to tame the flyaway hairs that escaped her ponytail, and pinched her cheeks which she didn't need to do since they were plenty rosy. Damon stood and tossed an arm around her shoulders, delivering a half-smirk I was beginning to think was his moniker.

"Thank you! I can't believe this. That troll Lisbeth is going to have a friggin' meltdown when I post this! You don't mind if I post this, do you?"

"You gotta keep your haters employed," Damon counseled.

Agreeing enthusiastically, the girl flung her arms around Damon who stiffened and patted her gently on the back until she let go. He retook her seat as she glided out of the deli seemingly forgetting to purchase what she came here to buy.

"Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize," I massaged my neck, avoided his eyes that were busy searching me expectantly. That brief intermission was enough for me to screw my head back on straight. The conversation we were embarking on boarded on treason to my relationship. I shouldn't care why a man wanted me out of the tens of thousands of women who would happily step into my shoes to give Damon Salvatore the kind of relationship he wanted.

"Your energy is different and that's my fault. I made you uncomfortable," he said.

"Yeah, well it's late and I need to go." I slid my chair away from the table, which caused Damon to practically leap across it for my wrist to detain me.

"Can we see each other again?"

"Damon…"

"Strictly platonic. I swear."

"Yeah, the fuck right. Why do I get the impression you don't know how to do platonic?"

Damon stood to his full height. Even with a table between us he towered over me. "For everyone else in my life it's a requisite. For my _domme_ , I have few limits."

I sucked in a massive breath as my pertinent parts tightened with arousal. "I'm not your domme."

The gleam in his eyes said: not yet.

We dumped our unfinished food in the trash, nodded goodnight to the cashier who sighed wistfully as she blatantly ogled Damon. I shook my head. Our strides matched as we meandered to the elevator, the sleeve of Damon's blazer lightly brushing my arm.

He pressed the up arrow for the lift and boarded when it arrived. My finger hovered at the number seven but then pale fingers wrapped around my hand, moved it up and pushed the PH button. I felt him right behind me, so close if I leaned back, his chest would support my weight. So close his jaw tickled the hair on the crown of my head. Butterflies and vultures ravaged my belly. I shouldn't feel like this for another man. I shouldn't feel my blood rage, scream, cry out.

"Whatever this is, it's not going to go away, Bonnie."

As politely as I could I slipped my hand away from Damon and pushed the button for my floor. I swiveled around to face him. "It will."

"It won't." Damon moved to the opposite side of the elevator. When it arrived on my floor he kept his gaze locked on his shoes. "Good night, Bonnie."

I didn't say good night until I swept through the hydraulic doors. And it wasn't until I bolted the door shut of my apartment and sauntered to my bedroom that I noticed the caress of silk around my fist.

I had Damon's tie.

Fingering the silk tie I plopped down on the bed. Thoughts whizzed to and fro like a puck across ice. Thinking of ice made me think of Damon dressed in nothing but his hockey pants and Bauers, drenched in sweat.

Groaning, my eyes closed and when they opened I had unknowingly shed the gown and lied in my knickers as Dietrich would say. Sprawled in the middle of my bed, taking the tie, I manipulated its shape, feathered it across my neck, my arms, my ribs, made the pointed end fondle my navel. Whispered it across my nipples, watched as they pebbled into hard little columns of erect and tender flesh, traced it down the center of my stomach, lower still, until it glided down my slit.

I got off. Soaked his tie with my juices. Added it to my collection.

* * *

"It's just a cyst!"

My head flew up from the accounting reports I had been reviewing. M had burst inside my office, cheeks ruddy, red hair aflame in riotous curls with the widest smile on her face. She plopped down in the visitor chair opposite of my desk and blew out a breath like she literally ran all the way from her home to the office.

"What's just a cyst?"

She sat up, "Zander! It's not cancer! He had a cyst growing on his liver if you can believe it. He had surgery a few days ago and he's going to be fine."

"That's amazing! I know he has to be so relieved it wasn't something more serious."

M nodded enthusiastically and slumped against the chair as if all her bubbling energy escaped her at once. "His brother is already planning a party for him when he gets released. Maybe a week or two after. That'll give Z time to recuperate. I was so scared for him, Bonnie."

"I know you were. Now there's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah." She looked at me quizzically. "Aren't you supposed to be in Virginia? Sheldon is just about to wrap."

"I'll get there eventually," I hedged and flipped through a few pages of the report.

M knew I didn't like going home but I never clarified the reason. Tension locked my muscles and I massaged the nape of my neck to get them to relax. Her mentioning Virginia made me think of Tessa who had been absent in my thoughts until something small made me think of her. Tessa, Tyler, Damon, work, obligation, lies, and love. All of it whirled nonstop.

"Oh well…" M nibbled her lip. "I'm planning on stopping by to see Zander after work, and I do remember a certain someone promising to go with me."

"Yes, I'm a keeper of my word. Just come get me when you're ready to head out. Otherwise I'll be cooped up in this office all night."

M wrinkled her nose before studying me for a moment. "Are you okay, Bon? You look tired."

"Because I am."

"You've traveled a lot these last few weeks but it's for work. Even when you abandoned us to play house for two weeks in Germany, you still held conference calls, stressed over every single production detail. You need a real vacation."

"My honeymoon will have to do. I can't afford to take any time off."

"And where exactly will you be honeymooning? Come to think of it, have you even started planning your wedding? I know you haven't because you haven't even asked me," M folded her arms and sniffed.

I was about to say: ask you what, when it clicked. My jaw dropped, eyes widened. "Ohmygod, I haven't asked you to be my maid of honor." Shame burned my cheeks.

"No, you haven't! I've been trying not to be dick about it by bringing it up, but we made promises in college to be in each other's weddings. To stand up for one another."

"You're right. I'm so sorry, M. There's no excuse for me forgetting _that._ "

She pointedly stared at my bare ring finger that involuntarily twitched. "I guess the question I should be asking is, are you still engaged? You're not having doubts are you?"

"I lost my ring." It sounded so irresponsible when spoken aloud.

M tutted and shook her head.

"Stop judging me," I snapped.

M barked a laugh. "I'm not judging you but I am…concerned."

"You don't have to be. Tyler and I are still engaged. He's even agreed to be the one to wear the engagement ring, but since I can't afford the expensive right now…" I let that admittance hang.

"Guess I can't ever accuse him of being traditional or antiquated," M mused ruefully.

"Trust me, Tyler has his moments."

"Are you sure everything's cool though?"

"For the most part."

She stared at me speculatively. "You don't sound too sure about that."

M was leaving the floor open for me to spill my guts. I wanted to confess, breakdown and tell her about the argument I had with Tyler about Tessa (I'd have to explain who she was, which I was so not in the mood to do), and how it made me doubt my trust in him. I wanted to tell my best friend about Damon kissing me and asking me to be his domme. And again, I'd have to admit that he and I kept up steady enough contact for things to have escalated, thus owning up to being part of the reason he never asked her out on another date. Guilt kicked in. Possession and defense. However, none of those subjects was conducive to the workplace, and I refused to talk about them where anyone could overhear.

So I deflected.

"You know what I need? What we both need?"

"What?" M pulled her riotous curls from her face and let them spring free a moment later.

"A girls' night out. We haven't had one since early June and it's almost August."

"Okay," M said carefully.

I'd have to give more than just a proposal of going out and getting sloshed. That was how we used to solve our problems in college, by drinking and dancing them away, burying them until we convinced ourselves they weren't there any more or they no longer mattered. We were older now, and it was time to actually use communication and conductive reasoning to get ourselves out of shit.

"Tyler and I didn't part on the best of terms when he left," I rolled my pen between my fingers. "We haven't talked all week."

"That's not unusual, right?"

I shrugged. "We typically don't go more than two or three days without speaking or at the very least shooting one another a text. This rough patch with Ty will blow over. In the mean time I need a night out with my _maid of honor_. So what do you say, M? Will you be my number one wingwoman on my big day?"

"Hells yeah!" M squealed in little girl delight before laughing maniacally. Nope, not scary at all. "This is going to be awesome! I've been in a wedding before. A junior bridesmaid but never maid of honor." Stars danced in her eyes and I wondered and worried about what was already zipping through her mind. M was not the most organized person on the planet, or that great at multitasking. But give her a project and watch her tire herself out to complete it.

"I'm stoked, can you tell?" she giggled and sobered. "Thank you, Bonnie," she sprang out of her chair, rounded my desk and wrapped her thinly muscular arms around me. She might be petite in size but my fiery redhead was strong as hell. "You and me this weekend," she shook her finger at me, "we're getting shitfaced."

"Not this weekend. I'll be out on location," I reminded.

M poked her lips out yet brightened a moment later. "When you get back it's on. Ooh, I'm making our night out my first official act as maid of honor. Don't worry about anything, Bon," she grinned wickedly. "You're in capable hands."

Joy.

* * *

I returned to the office after accompanying M to visit Zander who had been in good spirits, and more than happy to see his ex. Perhaps too happy because M spent almost the entire time blushing and ducking behind her curls. Reconciliation didn't seem to be out of the cards with those two.

Toeing off my shoes, I cracked open the venetian blinds letting moonlight bounce off the black and white damask wallpaper, made myself a cup of coffee and settled behind my desk wiggling my toes on the fluffy white Persian rug. I got back into reviewing expenditures and invoices to make sure the expenses had been necessary, and that everyone had been paid and on time.

My cell rang. I didn't recognize the number and let it ring until whoever was calling hung up or left a voicemail. They went with option two. I listened and my heart raced.

I called the number back.

"Calling me from my fiancé's phone he conveniently left at your place was one thing," I began without preamble. "Storing my number and calling it without my expressed permission is another."

"That's why I called. For permission. How are you, Bonnie?"

"Annoyed."

He chuckled darkly. "Are you busy?"

"I'm working."

"At home or at the office?"

"The office."

"It's late. Its summer and crime always goes up when it's hot. You're not there alone are you?"

I was pretty sure one or two of my dedicated employees still loitered around the place. Where they were I couldn't exactly say. The office was deserted to the point I could actually be completely alone.

"Are you alone, Bonnie?" he reiterated when I took too long to answer.

"Damon, I'll be all right."

"I won't be until I know you're safe. How much longer do you plan to stay?"

I rubbed my forehead. "I don't know. A few more hours at the most." I've stayed overnight in my office. There was a couch, as small and stiff as it was. I had spent a couple of nights curled up on it while using everything I had to make sure we reached our deadlines.

"I'll stay on the line with you until you make it home."

My toes curled. "You don't have to do that. Surely you have more important things to do."

"I don't," there was no mistaking the finality in his declaration. "My business is finished for the day. I have all the time in the world for you."

All right, that coaxed a semi-blush out of me. "You're laying it on a little thick."

"I'm auditioning." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Do I get a call back? Or have I gotten the part?"

"Cute," I muttered unimpressed even though I was. A little. I did realize what was happening. The bantering, the flirting, Damon checking up on me…things I was supposed to be doing with Tyler and things Tyler was supposed to do for me.

I heard him moving around and I wondered what he was doing. Shedding his clothes, pouring himself a drink?

"I've mastered all my lines, Bonnie. Let me show you. Can I?"

"Absolutely not," a giggle may have escaped.

He laughed again. A throaty sound. "Want to know what I realized as I was standing in front of a crowd of about three hundred today talking about the merits of youth getting involved in organized sports…I thought, 'Damon you shithead you haven't made it up to Bonnie for kissing her.' And I'm right. I haven't atoned for kissing you."

 _You don't want atonement. You want punishment._

"So here's what I'm proposing. Tell me something you love that you haven't gotten in a very long time, and I'll get it for you."

"Damon…"

"What do you have to lose?"

I didn't answer right away. What could I really say? I had nothing to lose. Ideas came one right after the other, but only one stood out the most.

"All right. Here's what you can do…call M."

Dead. Silence.

"Call her and apologize for not contacting her sooner. If she forgives you, which she probably will, whatever happens next I'm leaving that in your very capable hands. I don't want to know any details, what was said or done. When our paths cross again, which they inevitably will, I just want you to nod that you did what I asked. Is that clear?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't hear that."

"Yes, it's clear. _Crystal_ clear."

I stifled a laugh at his petulant tone. "Good boy." And with that I hung up.

A few days later, pulling my rolling suitcase behind me as I was Virginia bound, stepping into the lobby, I caught sight of Damon. He was coming, I was going. I stared at him pointedly and just as we were about to pass one another, he nodded. I smirked but my smirk turned into a little gasp when I felt the brush of his thumb across the back of my hand. I had to force myself not to look behind me, look over my shoulder.

Outside, perched on the curb waiting for my Uber, my phone buzzed. I had a text message from a number. His number. I read the message.

 _Will I ever see my tie again?_

Laughter bubbled out of me. Ah, yes. That now infamous tie I used to get off. I had thought about sealing it in an envelope and delivering it to his door. I thought about making Damon wear it so he could smell me all day and know that may be the only part of me he'd ever get to have. _No_. That would be a reward. He'd have to carry out tasks, perform little duties to get that privilege. But I'd dangle it in his face while he was down on his knees, chest red and baring the markings of the cane I'd take to him. I'd let him get a whiff, maybe even a taste right on the tip of his tongue, snatch it away before stuffing my nine inch strap on down his throat. Purring menacingly at him he wouldn't get to eat my pussy until he sucked my cock nice and good.

I cleared my throat and typed one simple word. _Maybe_.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review, kittens.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Welcome to another chapter. Thanks for taking the time to read and review.**

* * *

" _If he touches you again…he's_ dead _."_

" _That's a real clichéd thing to say wouldn't you agree?"_

 _His breath was a hurricane coming from between his clenched teeth. That's how hard, fast, and rough he was breathing. A vein had ruptured along his temple, and his pupils were mere dots. With him standing directly behind me, I was trapped, thighs digging into the lip of the dual-sink. I should have been scared. I should have been terrified, but…I was getting turned on._

" _You think I'm fuckin' with you," he hissed._

 _No, I didn't. I knew he was being deadly serious. The unhinged look in his eyes I was never a fan of had been present for a majority of the night. You let a man smell your pussy once and this had the potential of happening. We went in with what I thought was an ironclad understanding that it would be no more than one night, and would stay behind the doors of room 203. The name of the hotel and the city the deed went down wasn't important._

"Answer _me, Bonnie. Do you think I'm fuckin' around here?" his fingers, blunt and callused skimmed my arms. He was so close I could feel his heartbeat as if it were my own, and there was no denying the poke of the hard rod in his pants that could probably split steel. "His young ass won't make you cum like I can."_

 _It was nice he had self-esteem, but honestly what he gave me that one night was nothing to write home about._

" _How do you know I didn't fake it?"_

 _His nostrils flared and I braced myself for the hand around my throat, the derogatory epithet, or him taking a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. What I was greeted with was the unmistakable sound of masculine laughter that like a blended drink was one part seductive, two parts sinister._

" _I should shut that smart, pretty ass mouth of yours up. I have a couple of ways I can achieve that," he smelled my hair, my neck, barely touching me now._

" _We had one night together and everything you're doing is in violation of the ground rules we established."_

" _I didn't establish shit besides the fact your pussy is world-class, and your mouth is the fountain of youth. I was a changed man after experiencing you, Bonnie. Don't deny me."_

" _I have a boyfriend."_

" _Fuck him."_

" _I do. A lot."_

 _That made him grit his teeth and I saw color flood from his neck to lodge itself firmly in his cheeks and forehead. "How would he feel if he knew you were into older cock?"_

" _He wouldn't feel anything about it. He can't get mad at me for something that occurred before we got together."_

" _But, Bonnie...would he still feel that way if he knew it was me?"_

Two and a half years later I was staring from across the yard at the man who had trapped me in an upscale bathroom during a loose acquaintance's birthday party. He stalked the surroundings, hung on the periphery like the jaguars that were native to the part of the world he called home. He was still handsome enough to pull women ten years his junior, and for one night my legs had wrapped around that waist in a hedonistic mating ball, unaware how a daring hookup could one day bite me in the ass.

Tyler knew so much about me, and I him but I wasn't naïve to think there weren't secrets between us. I buried this one damning secret because if it ever got out, that would be the end of everything.

Needless to say I didn't want to be here. Nor was I in the mood to confront anything or anyone from the past. But I had been summoned and once summoned you couldn't decline for declining would be dubbed an insult.

So I thought back to just a couple of hours ago where I had been on set. The hugs, kisses, tears, sunshine, and happiness the cast and crew shared. The struggle, the roadblocks, the pain that went into my production company's art at the end had been worth every closed door and every no given like free prizes at a fair. It made everyone work harder, strive to prove that there was room for us at the table, it just meant sliding down some.

"You're not mingling with anyone and everyone is here for _you_ ," my mother snuck up behind me and hissed in my ear. "Stop being antisocial."

"Hi, mama. It's nice to see you too. How's the film coming along? I'm so glad you asked. After shooting for sixteen hours last night and another five today, we're finally wrapped. Yeah, I'm proud of us as well," I beamed facetiously.

Abby Bennett pursed her lips that automatically transformed into a beguiling smile toward a couple strolling by. It dropped once they passed. "I'm sorry. Come here." I obliged and she kissed my cheek. "Did shooting really go well?"

"Yes it did."

"Good. Glad to hear that. You know you could have invited Dietrich and some the crew to come."

"Yeah, but I thought it was going to be a private family dinner…not a cookout," I mused wryly.

"It began that way but well, your dad opened his mouth and here we are."

In her sun dress, caramel skin exposed to the elements, her long dark hair settled over her shoulders. On the outside Abby Bennett looked like the kind of mom who baked cookies just because and was head of the PTA. What many didn't know, and I only discovered by reading her journal because I was doggedly curious about the woman who raised me, she had gone through six therapists and suffered with an addiction though she never explicitly stated what it was. I didn't think it was drugs, alcohol, or hoarding. Sex? Ew, but probably. You'd never know it from looking at her. My mom was a devout believer in faking it.

"Back to my socializing…you don't even like a third of the people here."

"Whether or not I do is irrelevant," she said. "It's about perception. Plus the fact your dad is trying to drum up support."

"For? Don't tell me daddy wants a seat on the council," I plucked a grape off the tray she had balanced in her hands.

"Daddy wants _the_ seat."

My chewing slowed. "Daddy wants to be mayor? He's a pharmaceutical rep!"

"Shush," my mom's dark green eyes darted around. She began walking to one of the many refreshments table and I followed.

The backyard I wouldn't describe as sprawling, it was big enough to set up a volleyball net. A game was in progress. We didn't have a pool but a hot tub. My father's pride and joy was his restaurant style grilling center as he liked to refer to it. Three stainless steel grills and a fire pit which was the focal point of the concrete patio. Usually he could be found donned in an apron, spatula or tongs in hand. When Rudy Hopkins was in the mood to impress he hired a chef and small catering staff so that freed up his time to network and socialize.

"He hasn't announced anything but well, you getting married to the current's mayor's son he thinks will give him a leg up on the competition though no one ever runs against the Lockwood's."

Suddenly I felt less like a woman who made an independent choice in partner, and like one being offered up as a sacrificial lamb in an arranged marriage.

"How do you think the Lockwood's are gonna feel about their in-laws running against them?" I asked.

"That's if Richard decides to run again. People get stuck in their ways and they shun change. We're getting left behind but everyone around us is too blind to see it. Richard represents the status quo."

She wouldn't get an argument from me on that.

"Like I said, Bon your dad is just considering it. I don't know if he's serious about running, but if he is, now you see how careful we have to be moving forward." She pointedly eyed my naked ring finger.

Heading into the lion's den without my ring which was one of the highest form of status in the south, I figured tonight wouldn't go well. It might not be spoken about out loud as it used to, but it certainly was reflected especially around election time that women only had value in three areas: her virginity, her ability to attract a husband, and her ability to have kids. I could own and operate my own business, build my investment portfolio, meet world leaders, win awards and stockpile accolades but it would mean nothing to the world I'm from without a _man_ beside me. Rudy and Abby Bennett were old school, and expected certain things from their only child.

My father was a stern, unsmiling man. My mom—detached and bottom line driven. My source of warmth and affection came via my grandmother. Growing up I convinced myself it had been enough. Did I need parents who tucked me in at night, read to me, demanded to know my every move before I made it? Did I need words of encouragement and less criticism? Sure. However, what I needed most was protection, and unfortunately the adults in my life had been derelict on that front.

Severely derelict.

I observed the masses as they coquetted around one another, laughing, teasing, having what appeared to be a good time. I thought about the faces they wore under the one they were currently advertising. I wondered how many of them felt dirty, alone, and worthless. I wondered…how many of them were standing right next to the one who made them feel that way. I needed to know if I had company or not.

I lowered my voice as I said, "Tell daddy that if he knows what's best for him he'll keep his nose far out of politics. Would hate for _your_ skeletons to be excavated and dragged through the mean streets of suburbia." With that, I smiled at the way my mother swallowed having received the _real_ message, and went to do what she instructed.

Socialize.

I caught _him_ in my peripheral. When I glanced he stood as the top point of a triangle, beer in one hand, the other tucked in the pocket of his dark jeans. His eyes shifted toward me. He didn't smile. Didn't nod. Just brought the bottle up to his mouth, made sure I caught the sight of his tongue before taking the nozzle between his lips to drink.

Shaking that off, I made my rounds working the outside before working my way in. Catching up with cousins who knew everyone's business but you were never sure what was going on in their lives. Greeting play uncles who had a tendency to hug you around the waist and whisper you're filling out nicely. Side-stepped lengthy explanations with aunties who wanted to know where that 'lil boy at' whom I was engaged to.

Finally it was the moment of truth.

Carol Lockwood in her heyday was the definition of a trophy wife. She was trim, wore her hair cropped in a signature bob without a speck of gray to interfere with her sable strands compliments of Revlon no doubt. She could entreat you to do her bidding with her marble sized blue eyes tinged silver around the irises that gave me more of a censure warning than a friendly greeting. Her lips were thin typically coated in one shade of pink lipstick or another, and she wore Chanel religiously.

We gave one another air kisses while her cold hands wrapped around my own, imprisoning me. She picked me apart even as she inquired after my health and asking if I had done something different with my hair.

"I changed the conditioner I use," I deadpanned.

"Your ring," her lips puckered. "Tyler told me you misplaced it. How on earth could you lose your ring, Bonnie? Don't you know how important it is? You're not a child. I practically had mine surgically infused to my skin after Richard slipped it on."

The man standing next to her guffawed before tossing back a shot of bourbon. Finally those dark brown eyes Tyler inherited were on me. Assessing but not in the way his wife had done. He wasn't checking for flaws to stealthily bring up at inopportune times. I wasn't an anomaly to Richard Lockwood, mayor of Mystic Falls. He figured he knew everything he needed to know about me based solely on the family I descended from, and I passed his acceptable Negro test.

"That is true," Richard concurred but there was a particular snarl to his mouth, minute as it was. "Until you saw the canary rock your sister swindled out of Keaton and you demanded an upgrade."

"Oh Richard," Carol playfully elbowed him but her jaw was a little too clenched to carry off the desired effect. "Anyways, as I was saying, Tyler explained what happened so I've taken the liberty of inviting my good, good friend Roy Reston who's a jeweler, and should be here shortly. He's bringing some rings over in your size and all you have to do is pick one."

"Consider it a wedding present from me and the missus," Richard chimed in, bored.

My heart, which had already been pounding, stopped and resumed its erratic beat tenfold. They couldn't be…oh but they were.

"We were planning on paying for the honeymoon but—" Carol deferred to her husband.

"—figured why not cover the cost of the ring."

They waited for my eyes to go big, my jaw to go slack, and for me to clap my hands and hop up and down. What they got was:

"I…that is…you guys. That's really nice of you but I can't, we can't," I was stumbling and stuttering.

"Bonnie," my dad's authoritative brogue sliced through my incoherent refusal. He sidled next to me in his all white linen outfit. He was bald and droopy-eyed and the beginnings of a gut could be seen, but other than that, he was a healthy man of fifty-six years. "It's not every day your in-laws offer to…"

And I tuned out the rest of what he was saying because all I could think about was being indebted to Tyler's parents and how often they'd lord it over our heads, mainly _my_ head that they bought and purchased my ring. Yep, more and more this was beginning to feel like an arrangement, and anything that happened without my expressed consent made me rebel. Made me feel like the powerless adolescent from years ago who ran from sadistic monsters that grew hard from the chase. Somewhere deep in my mind I was telling myself it wasn't that deep, but I just didn't have a good feeling about this.

Nausea rose up in me and I tasted and smelled rust.

I bolted.

Or I wanted to bolt.

If I gave in to this, if I let them have their way on something as important as this, this would only be the start. Altruistic they may have wanted to appear, I knew the Lockwood's did nothing without expecting a return of some kind on their investment.

As if they sensed my refusal, Mayor Lockwood said to try to sweeten the deal, "We talked it over with Tyler and he's fine with it. This doesn't come with strings attached, Bonnie."

Richard sounded sincere, looked sincere but he was a politician. They knew how to dress it up and go hard. The really good ones were proficient at getting people to play into their hands and surrender their livelihoods believing a better future was just around the river bend. Unfortunately they were just going to get screwed in the end. Nope. I refused to let it happen to me.

"That is a tremendous gesture and I am deeply appreciative, but I'm going to have to decline."

"What?" my dad and Carol blurted.

"Bonnie, don't be ungrateful. It's a very nice and generous offer the Lockwood's are making," my mom had joined us and glared at me.

"I get that. I really do. But I really think this is something Tyler and I should decide on _together_. Like you said, Mrs. Lockwood. I'm not a child. I lost my ring. I was responsible for it. I shouldn't be rewarded with a new one, because what's the lesson? Tyler and I…we can't always depend on you guys to bail us out. Sink or swim. Isn't that right, daddy?" I inched away from them. Inched away from their looks of disapproval though Richard was fairly amused.

My father was ready to blow a gasket. He was more so embarrassed I would turn down the Lockwood's because of who they were. Knowing him he'd feel the same way even if I had been too eager. He didn't want them to have the impression I'd never had nice things. The diamond studs in my ears and the Cartier watch on my wrist dispelled that myth, but my father wouldn't see it that way.

"Can you just think about it?" Carol bartered. "I know we probably seem overbearing right now but you…you're special to our son and we just want to do this for the two of you."

Hmm. If I agreed to think about it that would buy me some time. But I already knew I wasn't going to change my mind.

"All right, I will. I'll think about it. Excuse me."

Bustling through the crowd, I grabbed my phone and fled to my bedroom though to be fair this house wasn't the one I grew up in, but one my folks purchased when they moved up to another tax bracket.

I dialed Tyler who actually answered.

I barely said hello. "You told your parents about the ring situation?"

"Well, hello to you too and I was supposed to keep it from them?"

"No, but a little warning would have been nice. Why would you agree to let your parents pay for me to get a new one? I thought we had agreed to shun tradition and do things our way?"

Tyler sighed heavily and chuckled. "Yeah, well how was I to explain to my dad why I'm the one wearing the ring and not my woman?"

"Easy, 'hey dad, my _woman_ and I decided to switch things up and I'd be the one to wear the token symbol of I'm off the market.' See? Painless."

Tyler scoffed. "Let's not pretend we don't know who my father is. He wouldn't have gone for that. I told them about the ring, they offered to pay for a new one. It was an honest gesture."

"Which I thanked them for. If you can't stand up to your dad about this, what else will you bow down to?"

"So it's just your orders I'm supposed to follow?" he retorted bitingly.

"They weren't orders, Tyler. It was a compromise you agreed to."

"Look," he grunted, "I really don't have time for this. Accept the ring or not. It's your choice. I have a meeting in about ten minutes. When's your flight?"

"Seven tomorrow morning. I have a layover in Chicago."

"Call me when you make it to Chicago. Bye." He hung up.

Well, that went left.

I took up refuge in the kitchen. Stuffed my face and mingled with the stream of guests who wanted a reprieve from the heat. From there I could easily see through to the living room and out into the backyard since the far wall was made up entirely of glass, and the Venetian blinds were pulled wide open. I caught sight of my parents literally connected at the hip, their arms around each other's waists, laughing with their friends. And I could tell how both of their eyes were crinkled at the corners that the laughter was genuine. It was a rare sight to see my parents like that.

I jumped a little at a hand landing a few inches shy of the dip in my spine. Swinging my head towards the culprit, I had to resist stepping away.

Richard Lockwood sidled beside me and ditched his empty and fingerprint stained tumbler on the center island counter. He smelled faintly of sweat, bourbon, and his wife's perfume.

I looked up at Richard. His eyes were vacant and glassy.

"Carol and I are about to leave. Just wanted to say good night."

"Good night and drive carefully."

Richard came closer. Close enough his thigh touched mine. If anyone were to see us standing so close they'd think we were up to no good. My entire body went rigid hoping he'd hurry up and say whatever he needed to say. "You've always been a good girl, Bonnie. Make my son happy. Understand? I won't tolerate anything less. But don't ever spit in the face of our generosity again," he pulled away and the ugly smile on his face filled in the blanks. He'd make me regret it if I did.

See why I loved coming home?

The domme in me wanted to pushed his head down and dig a six-inch heel into his neck. The little girl in me wanted to run and tell my grandmama. Richard bopped me gently on the nose with his forefinger and swaggered off to collect his wife before she exposed her drinking problem which everyone was already aware of. Asshole.

I remained at the party long enough to appease my socially conscious parents. Around dusk I collected my belongings, and managed to make it to the end of the driveway. Escaping works best if no one sees you leave.

"Were you just going to leave without saying hello or goodbye?"

That voice stopped me dead in my tracks. I could pretend I hadn't heard, but we both knew it was much too late for that. Lightly groaning I turned around. "Hello…Mason."

Damn, still ruggedly handsome. He was grayer up top but it subtracted nothing from his overall aesthetics. His salt and golden mane enhanced them. Made him more distinguished. More seasoned.

In my defense I hadn't known he was Tyler's uncle at the time of our indiscretion. I had known Tyler for all of my life but we had never been particularly close. Until we started dating. And the few times I'd been welcomed inside his home growing up, the pictures that were on display were of Lockwood's and members of Carol's family who had accomplished something, made a name for themselves. Mason was the black sheep. Moved to Florida at eighteen and very seldom came home.

Additionally, Mason and I had exchanged first names. That was it.

Seeing him and being introduced two years ago when Tyler and I had been together for a few months, yeah I almost pissed my pants. And instead of just pretending we had no idea what the other looked like naked or tasted like, Mason cornered me looking to repeat a mistake.

"You look nice," he complimented and gave me a once-over; heat and lust thankfully was absent from his gaze.

"Thank you. So do you."

"So," he tapped his fingers along the beer bottle in his hand.

"So," I parroted.

Mason flashed a smile revealing the gap between his teeth. "Look, I want to apologize for being an asshole the last time we saw each other. I was drunk," he tried to pander that excuse.

I shook my head. "You may have had a drink or two but you weren't falling down drunk."

"Maybe not but regardless, I want you to know I'm usually not that…persistent. I was just caught off guard."

"You weren't the only one but I do have this thing called self-control."

"Right. Again. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted, Uncle Mason."

He grimaced but laughed and scrubbed a hand down a grizzled cheek. "Yeah, how 'bout you just call me Mason and we start fresh from there."

"Works for me. Look, I gotta get going. Enjoy the rest of the party."

"Hey," he grabbed me by the elbow.

Damn he moved fast. I looked at him over my shoulder, brow arched in question. His aftershave triggered memories. My fingers sliding through his sandy blond curls which were cropped short now but had been thick enough in the past for me to grip and hold on to. His blue eyes that reminded me of jeans that had been washed too many times. I couldn't forget the rest of him. Hard muscles, nice dick. He hadn't been a scintillating conversationalist on the night we met, but conversation wasn't what I had been after.

"How long are you going to be in town for?" he questioned.

"I'm leaving in the morning. Why?"

I watched Mason visibly struggle with whatever ingenious plot hatched in his mind. It didn't need to be stated aloud that we could have no further contact with one another that went beyond platonic. He eventually let go of my elbow leaving a heat stamp behind.

"Yes, Mason?" I said when he took too long to say whatever he wanted to say.

"You did the right thing by turning down my brother and his wife's offer. They very seldom help anyone without a price tag attached to it. But…watch out for Carol. You think my brother's a prick? His wife…has him beat by miles."

I nodded. He searched my face. Drew closer.

"Are you ever going to…tell Tyler about what happened between us?"

I should have known that question was coming. If he was having an attack of conscience I needed to see how far it went. Was it a superficial thing or subcutaneous? I hated lying and liars, but informing Tyler about our one-time indiscretion would prove what exactly?

"Do you think I should?" I turned the tables around on Mason. He was a bit startled. "It happened before he and I got together, before I knew you two were related. Besides it's not like we had a fling or a relationship."

"It's the principle."

"If that's the case," I stepped away from Mason, "you should have said something once you realized what I meant to your nephew. But you didn't. In fact you tried to arrange a repeat."

Mason's nostrils flared. I could see the notorious Lockwood anger fattening his veins. I could have sworn I heard the beer bottle in his hand crack.

"We just agreed not to talk about it again," I went on. "Therefore, it stays in the past. Time moves forward not backwards."

"You're not worried about me telling him?" He was trying to call my bluff.

Yes I was worried. He may have called his brother and sister-in-law pricks but that didn't make him exempt from being one as well. But I couldn't fault Mason for wanting to tell the truth, either. There was no statute of limitations; however, and I was hoping I was reading Mason right, he wouldn't want to do anything to hurt his nephew.

"Like I said, Mason…If you wanted Tyler to know he would have known about it two years ago."

"Maybe I didn't think it was the right time."

"Bullshit."

The dimple in his cheek appeared when Mason graced me with a lopsided smirk. "You really love him?"

"Yes."

He broke eye contact, nodded, stuffed a hand in his pocket. "And you're okay with this? Marrying my nephew after what we had?" _Had?_ "Did," he corrected. "Sorry."

"Do you want me to say I feel guilty? That I regret it? Sure, I do but I can't change the past and take it back so why dwell on it. We didn't do it to hurt him. I didn't use you as some kind of, I don't know, stepping stone. You and I met, liked what we saw and acted on our attraction. An attraction that's gone, by the way," I stated emphatically. I didn't need him believing there was still a spark there that with the right fuse would be reignited.

Mason sighed after a tense moment or two of silence. "Fine. I won't say a word. It never happened."

"It never happened," I murmured quietly.

"Congratulations again on your engagement." With those parting words, Mason strode back to the house.

Ten minutes later my Uber finally arrived. I hopped into the backseat and was whisked away to less convoluted territory.

* * *

Fiery whiskey burned a path from my esophagus to my stomach. My eyes were pierced shut and my hands flapped around as I waited for the scorch to subside. Deacon, the owner I was chummy with, had come through with the free drink which had become plural. Slinging drinks as one of his specialties, he learned to read the kind of mood people were in and supplied them accordingly if they were having trouble making a decision. He took one look at my face and knew I needed something that would get me lit in five seconds or less.

I had had the worst flight, got sick midway through, and disembarked under heavy clouds and an ominous sky. I was feeling slightly better and had just enough energy to attend the litany of post-production meetings. I should have gone home and fallen face first into bed, but made a detour to my favorite club.

That was a lie. I didn't want to go home because I'd end up thinking about Mystic Falls. Think about rings, slimy future fathers-in-law, and hot uncles who could ruin your life. I had to laugh about that, or maybe it was the whiskey. A hot, queasy feeling broiled my stomach remembering Richard's cold eyes and veiled threat, and the trouble Mason could rain down on my head. I wanted to believe he would keep his mouth shut, but who was I fooling? Some secrets never made it to the grave. Ben Franklin had it right; three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.

I started to calm down as a scene unfurled in my mind. Dark room on the edge of some town that's absolutely gorgeous at night. Secluded but not exactly private or isolated. The quiet was disrupted by the sound of wrists and ankles straining against corded satin rope looped around the posts of a four poster bed, and the squeaking of bedsprings with every single enthusiastic thrust. Hands on a broad chest filmed with sweat…a face obscured by a clear plastic bag sucked so far into his open mouth you'd wonder if he's choking…the threat of asphyxiation happening right at the pinnacle of climaxing.

"Another round, love?"

Deacon's question snapped me out of my daydream. Good timing. I wasn't sure if my mystery man would have survived his predicament.

"Make it a double this time," I requested.

After tossing back that shot I got up to stretch my legs and discovered my bladder was near to bursting.

The corridor leading to the bathrooms was dungeon dark. Just enough light to direct your footfalls, but dark to the point you wouldn't see anyone about to jump out at you until it was far too late. The women's restroom wasn't a total abomination, but it was getting there. There were pools of water on the sink counters, the trashcan overflowed with paper towels. Balled up pieces of tissue was stuck to the tiled floor, and it smelled of disinfectant and perfume. I heard giggling coming from one stall. Arguing from another. I waited my turn, did my business when one became vacant, and washed my hands. I didn't leave right away. I lingered. Waited for my arousal to settle. I should know by now not to fantasize in public.

By the time I reemerged another band had taken over the stage. The atmosphere changed from laid back and sultry to punk rock and frenetic. I moved between the crowd, dodging thrashing hair and elbows. Squinting I could make out the lead singer, the drummer, bass guitarist, and keyboard player. Yet I did a double take at the drummer and found myself inching closer to the stage. The black snapback on his head concealed his face, but I could swear there was something eerily familiar about him. He pounded the snare and cymbals and when needed, provided backup vocals. I turned my ear more towards him. His voice was melodious which kind of reminded me of Incubus' front man Brandon Boyd whereas the lead singer, his voice was reminiscent of Trent Reznor. Together they sounded like sneaking out of the house to fuck.

The song they were belting out was titled, I'm assuming, "Eat You Alive" and I had to give props, it was a banger. The crowd loved it. Women screamed at the top of their lungs, people snapped pics on their phones. This band, whatever their name was, performed three more songs before saying goodnight.

My eyes zeroed in on the drummer when he rose. He wore a loose white sleeveless shirt, Tupac's face monogrammed on the front. He hiked up his unintentionally baggy skinny jeans as he fell in step with his bandmates. He swiveled around his snapback.

I could now see his face.

Covertly I surveyed the crowd wondering if his older brother was in attendance. It was hard to tell. There were too many people and I was exceptionally short.

As if he could feel me watching him, his head turned. I didn't so much as fidget. He shielded his eyes from the bright lights aimed at the stage, and perhaps he looked right at me. A smile spread across his face and two minutes later he pushed his way to me.

The crowd swelled and ebbed around us like ants. People cursed, people laughed, people yelled, others glared at us in annoyance. Women clamored for his attention which he denied them. The most sought after person in a band after the lead singer was the drummer.

"Fancy seeing you here," he grinned.

"Fancy seeing you're in a band!" I yelled to be heard above the noise.

Stefan's grin widened and I had to say he had a nice smile. He tilted his head slightly, bent down and shouted in my ear, "You thought I was a career server?"

"No, professional college student."

His laughter tickled my ear. We were close, close enough for me to be able to count his lashes, smell his aftershave. He was a little sweaty, cheeks were flushed.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Before I could accept or decline, the bass guitarist found us and slung a sinewy muscled arm across Stefan's shoulders that then became a headlock. Stefan twisted away. His hat came off in the process.

"Knock it off, asshole."

"Come on. We got business to attend to in VIP," the guitarist sized me up and the sensual grin that spread across his handsome face made me shake my head back and forth. "Bring her with you."

Stefan shoved him. The two exchanged some choice words I didn't hear but could tell from Stefan's expression and the guitarist, the latter was used to it, but nevertheless backed off and disappeared in the maelstrom. Stefan bent down to retrieve his hat inspiring me to look elsewhere, because with us standing so close well, that put him at the right height.

"Now about that drink…" he tried again.

"Thank you but I have to get home and you have important _business_ in VIP."

"Nothing more important than a bunch of guys pushing thirty getting shitfaced drunk and hitting on anything that moves. Though I should go up and monitor them because we have a meeting with a label tomorrow."

"Really? Congratulations! I hope everything goes well."

Stefan preened for a moment. "Thank you. You sure I can't change your mind?"

I affected an apologetic expression. "Positive."

He huffed in disappointment but accepted it with a nod, turned, and walked two paces before retracing his steps. "Is it because of my brother? Are you into him because if you are, I get it."

Okay, wow. "Damon has nothing to do with why I won't let you buy me a drink."

"Do you mind if I ask why?"

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I have to answer," I let my sweet girl next door smile take effect. Stefan's gaze darkened. "You guys sounded really good. Good luck again on your meeting."

With that I turned to head out, but stopped halfway there. Looked to my left.

He wore a black suit; the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. It might have been the strobe lights but he appeared darker, perhaps sporting a tan via sitting ocean side at a beach. He hadn't noticed me yet. His gaze was glued to the woman grinding her ass on his dick. From the looks of things he was enjoying her attentions, and if I were in his shoes I would too. She was gorgeous and thick.

I circled around the other way, always keeping him in my sight. I was a jaguar ready to wrap my jaws around a vulnerable neck and release seven hundred pounds of pressure. I was behind him now. He was a…terrible dancer. Truly tragic. But it made him, I don't know, human, real. I approached him from behind. Seven feet away. Six. Five. By four the song had changed again. At two feet I swear I could feel his body heat. A foot away, I could touch him. He stiffened when I lightly grabbed him by the waist.

"Having fun?" I spoke into his ear as best I could. With the help of standing on tip-toe.

His head shifted just a fraction. I saw him mouthed more than heard him say: "I am now."

Damon fully turned toward me, the woman he had been grinding against forgotten and she wasn't too happy about that. He gave me a thorough once-over. The little ivory dress I donned suddenly had become full-fledged lingerie from the way he eyed me. And I secretly kind of loved it.

In five seconds, I felt my attitude changing, shifting. I felt a level of comfort with Damon that after spending so many hours in a day being professional, firm, and distant it was a welcomed change. It wasn't until now that I realized I missed him.

He had adhered to my rule in terms of communication. I told Damon to only use my number when he had something important to say. He hadn't called. Hadn't sent a text or anything. I had essentially been iced out, to use a hockey phrase. Now I was dying to know every detail of his life, even the mundane.

Dangerous.

Stating the obvious as to why he was here would be counterproductive. Damon had donned his big brother robes and shown his support for Stefan who had more talents than being able to recall an order without having to write it down.

"Who are you here with?" Damon asked.

"Myself."

He looked slightly disturbed by that. "Don't you know it's not safe for a woman to go to a bar alone?"

"Statistically speaking it's not safe for a woman to go anywhere. But we can't live in fear of what might happen now can we?"

"No we can't. What are you getting into after this?"

"My bed."

"Can I come?" I gave him the evil eye. He shrugged. "I had to try. I'm hosting an afterparty at my place. You should come."

"I've spent the last forty-eight hours on a plane and the rest of it in meetings. I want to shower and snuggle with my cat."

Damon grinned naughtily.

"Get your mind out of the gutter. I do have a cat," I laughed.

"Just for a few minutes?" he entreated. "I haven't seen you in a week."

"Before we met you hadn't seen me at all."

"That means we have a lot of catching up to do."

I couldn't lie, his comebacks were invigorating. The self-doubt I had been prepared to indulge in had fallen back.

We were shoved. Whether it was driven by instinct or just a need to touch, Damon wrapped his arm around my waist, steadying me. That brought us even closer. My breasts touched his abdomen. It only seemed natural to begin swaying from side to side. When I married I would have to give this up. Dancing with strange men in crowded, noisy clubs. The two of us moved, eyes locked. My arms grew a mind of their own and loosely wrapped around Damon's neck. In response his arms wove around me tighter.

For the most part we kept things very clean, very PG. Sometimes it was harder to be good than bad.

I looked at him, looked away, caught myself staring again. He was so distracting.

"Something happened while you were gone," Damon said. "I can tell."

"Something is always happening with me."

"What's his name and where does he live?"

I smiled a little. "No need for you to get arrested on my account. It's nothing."

"It has to be something if you're here by yourself unless you're trolling. Are you trolling?"

"Yes, and I've had my way with Elijah Craig. He didn't last as long as I'd like but we can't win them all, can we?"

Damon tilted my chin with a finger, his face serious, "Do you know how many times I wanted to call you? How bad I wanted to hear your voice?"

"What stopped you?"

He shook his head. "I knew if I called you I'd try to convince you to go out with me and…I know that's impossible."

"I like your honestly."

"You have a gift for bringing it out of me," he groused. "Maybe I was telling myself I could handle this. Just this."

"Can you?"

"Can any of us handle anything when we want more?"

My heart was speeding and I couldn't get it to stop. I could blame the sudden rush of dizziness on the drinks but I wasn't sure they were a hundred percent at fault. He did this to me. This was all Damon's doing. We stared at each other searchingly. So openly, intensely, too intensely because…

Neither one of us stopped to consider the fact people might recognize him. Might pull out their phones which they had never put away to start with, and might start filming us together, making us go viral on the Gram, snapchat, twitter, tumblr, and every single social media known to man. If we had broken eye contact for just one second we might've realized our images were being broken down by pixel and splashed across the global net. It might have been brought to our attention there was little we could do to stop the storm that was coming.

No, none of that factored in. None of it mattered. When you're addicted to risk nothing does.


	12. Chapter 12

I wish I could say we left the club at a respectable hour, remembering certain societal norms such as maintaining the correct amount of space while walking or talking to someone. I wish I could say that I hadn't hidden behind my hair, nor stared at him from beneath my lashes without biting into a corner of my lip. I wish I could say we only danced to that one song and parted ways as neighbors who occasionally said hello and goodbye. I wish I could say that Damon hadn't sneaked in a couple of close calls with his lips, brushing the corner of my jaw, the shell of my ear, my temple. But then…I'd be lying.

The Den of Sin was the unspoken name of Sugar Venom's VIP area. You couldn't get more private than an underground grotto. My good friend Deacon wanted his clientele to be able to do more than simply overlook the crowd and convince themselves they were better than the lowly peons below who didn't have the paper or the connections to grant them exclusive access up above. However, he didn't want his establishment to be confused with a brothel or escort service. No fucking. That was the rule and one I'm sure Deacon knew was broken every single night. Edinburgh had the pubic triangle where three strips clubs were in feet of one another. This section of Vancouver where Sugar Venom resided was known as the pubic square. It sat between two strip clubs and a sex shop.

I traipsed down a red carpet lined tunnel outfitted in mirrored glass to one of six VIP rooms. Stefan reached me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He started crooning in my ear and I joined in, singing the lyrics to "Say Ah". He was no Trey Songz but damn his voice was raspy enough to inspire chills.

He stopped singing abruptly and said, "If you're not into my brother…you might want to work harder to convince yourself of that. Be careful with him. He's more fucked up than he appears." Stefan untangled himself and broke into a light jog to catch up with the rest of his band mates.

My footsteps slowed as I processed what he said. Wasn't everyone fucked up? But hearing someone who had grown up with Damon, knew him say he was fucked up gave me a perverse, twisted thrill.

Damon and I had gotten separated but I caught sight of him speaking with another man, maybe the band's manager. Nevertheless, I veered to the right, entering a dome-shaped room with ecru stucco walls. A red velvet couch, well more of a bench really, ran the entire circumference of the room. Stationed here and there were burnished gold low tables that were riddled with bottles of every brand of alcohol you could think of. A bar was set up in the back manned by two bartenders who wore tight sleeveless shirts reenacting scenes from _Cocktails_. Below the buzzing conversations, music streamed from hidden speakers. If you wanted a break from confessing your crimes to total strangers, you could watch any program of your choosing on the mounted flat screens.

The band's entourage, about fifty deep flooded inside and then fanned out. Women were in abundance making the ratio three to one. It was turning stuffy and crowded, and with the waning hour my interest was fading but it piqued for a second.

A waitress sashayed by in an itty bitty number that dipped low along her spine, revealing the dimples above her ass, carried a tray that was loaded with a bottle of Absinthe, a bowl of sugar cubes, lighter, a perforated spoon, and six Torsade glasses. The bass guitarist crowed, "That's what I'm talking about!" before patting the waitress on the bottom. She blushed and said something that had everyone howling in laughter.

"Ever tried that before?"

I craned my neck to acknowledge the man who sidled next to me. "That's surprisingly one of the many things I've _never_ done."

"Feel up to losing your virginity in that regard?"

"You promise to be gentle?" I quipped with a roll of my eyes.

He chuckled in response, "Always. Come with me."

Damon spread his hand on my lower back and ushered me to another VIP room. It was smaller but the motif was the same. The major difference was this room came equipped with a door that could be frosted.

Already on the table were an assortment of drinks and a platter of veggies, fruit, and thinly sliced pieces of pancetta, dipping sauces, feta and provolone cheese. What drew my attention and made a brow arch was a bottle of Absinthe. I shot Damon a look that he missed.

We sat down together, knees slightly bumping together. I eyed the spread while he eyed me.

"Help yourself to whatever you like," he said.

I nibbled on a slice of flatbread while he answered a phone call.

The low rumble of Damon's voice caught my ear anytime he replied to whoever he was talking to. In that moment he was less hockey player and more CEO. His hair was a little more tousled. I could see fuzz growing around his jaw, but his dark suit was still pristine as if any minute he'd board a helicopter to buy up more real estate.

"Set up a meeting with Paige and confirm for the twenty-second. I still haven't decided about the Grand Prix but remind me about it in a couple of weeks. Is that everything? All right. Enjoy your day off." He hung up. "My assistant," Damon explained. "She believes she's my sister, mother, and soothsayer."

"Does she run a tight ship?" I sampled a slice of pancetta next.

"Tighter than the inside of Voldemort's nose."

I choked out a laugh. "It's kind of late for her to be calling."

Damon fought off a smile as filled a tumbler with three fingers of bourbon. "She knows I keep odd hours. Plus she knew I'd be out late tonight," he leaned forward, "I'm not a cliché. I'm not fucking her."

"I never said you were."

"The implication was there."

"Was it?" I cocked my head a little. "I was more so making an observation about how late she works, and wondering if maybe you're one of those demanding alpha bastards who believes everyone's schedule and life should revolve around theirs."

"Do I come off like that?"

"Not exactly. But it's not like we've had a ton of scintillating conversation to get to the meat of who we are."

"I'd say our conversations have been illuminating," he waggled his brows.

"To a degree," I concurred.

"Then let's have a scintillating conversation," he sat back, crossing his long legs and throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "We've had what? Ten or so encounters since the day we rode on the elevator together…we're practically in a relationship."

"Are we now? I must have missed that memo."

Damon hid a smile behind his glass before taking a sip. "And in those encounters we've had roundabout conversations until that night at the deli. We've been frank but vague with each other and I understand. Gotta maintain those boundaries. So let's break a couple."

"We already have."

"Then let's break a few more."

I angled my body more towards him causing my dress to ride up. Damon stole a peek at my thighs before they roved higher to my crotch. I was wondering if he was wondering about the color of my panties. Or if I was wearing any. "Everything that's already been broken could be grounds…" I hinted.

He finally made eye contact. "Grounds for what? We're just two people who live in the same building…have a common interest neither one of us is practicing at the moment. So what else do you like, Bonnie? What do you enjoy? What bothers the shit out of you?"

"This feels like an interview."

Damon hunched shoulder. "Aren't most things? We interview people without realizing it. See who can be trustworthy with our secrets to gain that BFF status. See who is sane enough to date, invite into our private circle. Hell, we interview people on which brand of toothpaste is better."

He had me there.

"All right…How long have you lived in our high rise?"

Damon made an indecipherable noise. "I thought you'd start off with something far more interesting."

"Ever heard of a slow burn? I'll get to the good stuff. How long have you lived there?"

"Five years."

"Besides Miss Josephine, have you befriended any of our other neighbors?"

"Yeah," he spoke mostly into his glass as he took his next sip of bourbon. "That…situation was a bit of a rollercoaster nightmare."

Interest piqued I sat up a little straighter, "How so?"

"I'll save that story for another day."

"Tease."

"You started it," Damon countered.

"I did. But maybe…"

"What if telling that story is triggering for me?" he pressed his lips together. I was beginning to learn to read him. He had shut the door to that vault, or rather placed more guards outside of it. Beefed up security. I inched away to neutral ground.

"Then I guess I shouldn't force you to share. Consent is highly important to me."

"For the usual reasons?"

"And the odd ones too," I paused. "So do you have any other siblings besides Stefan?"

"No. He's it. You?"

"Only child. That I know of," I winked.

Damon smirked. "Papa was a rolling stone, or mama?"

"I discovered, shockingly, that my parents had relations with other people before they met."

"Scandalous."

"Not assuming any births happened but I wouldn't rule it out. However, my father is Captain Responsibility and though my mama might have been fast," I air quoted, "as my paternal grandmother likes to imply, I think she tried to be as careful as she could be. But there's this one guy a few years older than me who looks like he could be her son. The resemblance is uncanny."

"I know a producer that works on Maury if you're interested."

"I'll keep that in mind." We shared a quiet laugh.

Damon plucked a strawberry out of the pile and bit a huge chunk of it, "Did you ever want a brother or sister?"

I shrugged, "Sure. As an only child you're either the obsessed focus of your parents, or you're given far too much independence and treated like an adult before you actually become one. It would have been nice to have someone my age to talk to in the house. Play with, get them in trouble, have a best friend for life."

"Not all siblings get along."

"So I've heard."

"Stefan and I…we weren't the chums we are now growing up in rural as hell Connecticut. My brother was this pudgy, frog-looking snitch who sang like a fucking canary twenty-four seven three sixty-five."

I giggled at his description of Stefan while asking, "What were you doing he had to sing so much?"

"Living," Damon deadpanned. "Seriously in the history of my life he's said my name more times than our parents. As soon as I could, I moved opting to go to school out of state."

"What college?"

"Penn State. I mean, he wasn't the only reason I wanted to get the hell out of Connecticut. A lot was going on and I just…I wanted to do something that would make me happy for a change instead of doing what my _father_ said so he could live vicariously through me. Nothing's worse than being a self-insert," a tic went off in Damon's jaw giving me the sense that his dad was a sensitive topic of discussion. His brother's comment about him being fucked up rang in my head. "Stefan followed me as soon as he could. But by then I didn't hate his fucking guts so much. He had finally started to get a life of his own."

"Your folks still together?"

"Nah. They divorced years ago. My pops has since remarried and lives in London, and my mom is in Cali where she owns and operates her own vineyard with her boy toy. They have a cat named Seth. Little bastard is a spawn of Satan, and a rescue dog called Arthur who, I have to admit, is very sweet. You said you have a cat, right?"

"Yep. A three year old American shorthair named Sphinx."

"Cool name. Any particular reason you call it Sphinx?"

"I just like the name. It felt it suited him. He's extremely laid back and really thinks he's ruler of our two bedroom kingdom."

Damon refreshed his drink. "Kids…you have or want any?"

"No and one day. You?"

He didn't reply until he took a sip, re-crossing his legs, planting his right ankle on his left knee, unbuttoned his blazer. "I don't have any and I go back and forth about having some. The ones I've been around are mean, noisy little shits, but sometimes I think about having a little boy or girl and I guess if I had ovaries they would explode at their potential cuteness."

We laughed.

"If you had a boy or girl," I began, "would you want them to play hockey?"

"Of course. If they want to. I was forced to do a lot of shit I didn't want to do growing up. Things that were supposed to quote unquote make me a man, and I've told myself I wouldn't put my kids through that, but what if I do anyways? Aren't we all doomed to become just like our parents in the end?"

Good question. Excellent question.

"What are your parents' names?" I asked.

"Giuseppe and Lillian, but my mom goes by Lily. Yours?"

"Rudy and Abby."

"Would you say your parents have had a good marriage?"

Flashbacks of my parents sitting across from one another at the dinner table not saying a word to each another floated to the surface. Listening at their door as they fought, their voices muffled. Walking into the Grill, a local restaurant and seeing my mom sitting in a booth, smiling, practically glowing but the man she was smiling at was not my dad. Hearing my father tell someone over the phone in his office he loved them and couldn't wait to see them again with my mom sitting just feet away in the living room. Seeing him in the park kissing my mom's best friend.

I put on my glossiest smile, "They've found a way to make it work."

Damon nodded, "Have you cracked open that bottle of wine I gave you?" he changed gears on me.

The switch in topic threw me for a second. "I haven't. I'm saving it for a special occasion."

"You're a sentimentalist?"

"I am."

Jhene Aiko's "When We Love" wafted through the speakers. An electric tingle spread through me.

"This song isn't so bad," Damon commented.

"No, it's not."

"Usually not my taste but I can vibe with it."

I was amused. "Is that right? Let me guess at the kind of music you listen to."

"If you say Justin Bieber…"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Foo Fighters."

"I'm shocked you know who they are. Millenials tend not to know of any artists that existed before the year 2000."

"There you go with the millennial slander, grandpa. Before this conversation continues just exactly how old are you?" I side-eyed him.

"I'm thirty-one. Is that too old for you?"

"No. Thirty-one…that technically makes you a millennial."

The face Damon made suggested I just insulted him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight. Seriously, you probably like…Nine Inch Nails, Pearl Jam, U2, Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, Lynard Skynard."

Damon shook his head, "Am I that old fashioned? All right, I do like Nine Inch Nails and some U2. My brother is the Pearl Jam fanatic. I listen to pretty much…everything," he tossed his hands up in the air and started rattling off a pretty eclectic list of artists that spanned decades, genres, and cultures.

"But who's your favorite?"

"Asking me who my favorite artist is would be like asking to choose one thing to eat for the rest of your life. I can't make that kind of commitment. I'm a variety whore," he winked.

"All right. Fair enough. Is there any particular song or artist you constantly find yourself listening to?"

"There is," he started to answer my question, hesitated. "There is one group that I've been listening to damn near obsessively for the last six months…no judgement," Damon pointed a finger.

I held up my hands in surrender. "You'll hear no judgement from me."

"I feel I should get that in writing."

"Will you just spit it out?"

"All right." Dramatically he cleared his throat and muttered lowly, "BTS."

"What was that?"

"BTS."

We blinked at one another. He was waiting on me to react and I did by biting my lips.

"I knew you were going to judge," Damon rolled his eyes.

"I'm not judging!"

He grunted next.

"They are a talented kpop group. There's nothing wrong with liking their music," I put in overtime to placate him.

Still Damon huffed petulantly.

"Tell your hypermasculinity to chill. You can like BTS and still go out and build something with your bare hands, or work on a car engine, or chop down trees."

"Now you're mocking me."

Impulsively I gripped his chin. "When I mock you, you'll know. You've just shown me another layer and I find it adorable," slowly I let him go.

"Yeah. That's what every guy over the age of fourteen wants to hear. His musical tastes are adorable. Okay, what's the one musical artist you're embarrassed to let people know you like, and it better be a good one," his eyes narrowed.

"There's not anyone I won't own up to liking but…its more so…ever heard of Kidz Bop? Children doing covers of popular songs?" Damon stared at me blankly but I knew he knew what I was talking about. The fact a corner of his mouth twitched said so. I felt myself blushing and hated it. "Well I might have downloaded a few of those albums," I grumbled.

Damon said nothing for a second or two. Then, "Well thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must have been hard."

I punched him. He rubbed the area, chuckling, "What's your favorite color?"

"Cranberry. You?"

"Black. Everything looks good in black."

"I agree."

"Good. I think this calls for a mini-break," Damon reached over me, brushing against me as he grabbed the bottle of Absinthe and poured the outlawed liquor into two glasses. I watched nervously as he lit the sugar cube and let it burn for a few seconds before blowing out the flame and dropping the cube inside.

"I've heard lots of horror stories about this drink. You're not going to let me do anything stupid, right?"

"You can trust me," but that wolfish grin of his said otherwise. "Not to worry because I have it on good authority this brand of absinthe doesn't have that much thujone in it which was the main ingredient slated to cause hallucinations and affect a person's behavior. Just sip it slow." He rose his glass in the air. " _Alla fata verde_!"

My pulse palpitated. I studied the glass for a minute, psyching myself up to partake of something I'd heard different stories about, the main one being it was poison. I regarded Damon who looked at me encouragingly. On the count of three in my head, I took a tentative swallow.

At first it was like drinking licorice but quickly following that sweet flavor was a face puckering bitterness. My eyes watered and it felt every little nose hair I possessed was being singed.

"Oh god help," I coughed.

Damon handed me a bottle of water that I chugged.

"Why would anyone do that to themselves?" I drank more water. "Are you laughing?"

"No," Damon answered quickly, too quickly. He sipped his drink like a pro, downing about half of the emerald substance.

"You've gotten quiet on me. You okay?" his voice carried an echo but I nodded.

I drank two more sips of absinthe. "So tell me, Damon…when you were in the league did any puck bunnies break into your hotel room?"

A corner of his eye shrank but I was too busy watching his throat work as he finished off his drink. Damon rotated the glass staring at it like it was a crystal ball. "Let me put it to you like this…those who were ambitious and cunning enough to make it to my room without security chasing them off…deepening on my mood and if I was attracted to them I rewarded their efforts. For a while there was even a fan page created by chicks who I hooked up with. I went on there once out of morbid curiosity. Most of what was posted was true, but an overwhelming amount of it was pure fiction."

"Fanfic."

"Exactly. Can I assume you keep up with regular physicals and testing?"

"Religiously. I've only gone bare back twice and that was with…" he cut himself off. "What about you? Any fans willing to stalk your every move to find out exactly where you'll be on any given day?"

I did have a fan. If the person was a fan of mine. I thought of my anonymous letter writer. I thought about the fact I had one in my purse right this second that I've yet to read.

Now was as good a time as any. I grappled for my clutch and removed the letter.

"What you got there?" my sexy neighbor questioned curiously.

I tapped the letter on my knee, "It doesn't look familiar?"

"No. Should it?"

"I don't know. You tell me. About two months ago these, well they're not love letters since they err on the side of eroticism, have been popping up in my mailbox."

"And you think I'm the writer?" Damon pulled his lips back from his teeth while shaking his head. "That's not my style."

"So what's your style besides boldly offering yourself up to another man's woman?"

"I never claimed my methods weren't stupid. However, I'm not a very effective communicator on paper. I don't have the patience for it." He motioned to the letter with his chin. "Read it to me."

"No, Mr. Salvatore. _You_ read it. It's told in first person from a man's perspective."

I extended the letter to him. He glanced at it then me then back at the letter before slipping a pointy corner between two fingers and plucking it from my hand.

"Fine. I'll read while you finish that drink. Nothing is going to waste, you hear me?"

I giggled at his attempt to be stern. "Yeah, I hear you."

Damon unfolded the letter …

 _We were on a train that traveled eighty miles an hour. It could go much faster, but the speed of it, seeing the scenery beyond the windows zoom by made us feel we were on a rollercoaster. We weren't alone. Seemed to always be the case with us. We were in a car that seats four, and across from us was another couple engrossed in their own instruments of distraction._

 _You pulled out a blanket and draped it over our laps. Your head fell to my shoulder, and I turned mine just enough to kiss your forehead._

 _My hand wandered to your thigh. You had donned my favorite dress. The light material could be practically see-through depending on the light. But it granted me easy access, which I took full advantage of. I heard your breath quicken at my touch, saw your lashes twitch as you fought not to make a sound that anything was happening beneath the blanket. I circled your knee, light, barely perceptible touches. I could feel your muscles flex and contract at each sweep of my fingers. I love it when you squirm._

 _You sighed, gnawed into your full, lower lip. You wore our favorite shade of lipstick. A beautiful, sexy as fuck red that I pictured leaving stains over my chest, stomach, and yes wrapped around my cock. Damn, baby I want to bury my dick down your warm, tight throat._

Damon cleared his throat after reading that.

 _Higher my hand traveled, taking the hem of your dress with it. I thought about the wet spot forming on your panties and my cock went rock hard. I shifted so I could reach better, feel more of you. I didn't sink my fingers into your panties, but merely added pressure on your mound. On reflex you spread your legs farther giving me more room to work. I looked down and saw your hard nipples. Your dress was cut low enough that if you breathed any deeper they could poke out of the top._

 _But my fingers though, the middle tweaked, rubbed your clit that felt like a pebble. You moaned loud enough to draw the attention of our cabin mates. I glanced at the woman as she scrutinized the both of us, probably trying to figure out what we're doing. But I'm sure she knew. Could she see my hand moving subtly beneath the blanket? Was jealously beginning to stir in her, wishing her pussy could get the same attention? She cleared her throat and went back to reading her tablet, but every now and a then she peeked at us. The man beside her, he was riveted._

 _Wider your legs spread, but I still refused to slip my hand under your panties. Just as I knew it would be, the seat of them were soaked._

 _Your breathing changed and this time you weren't pretending not to enjoy what I was doing to you. Your eyes closed, your back arched as you sunk lower on the seat. Maybe you looked like you were going to sleep, but I knew better. You were too fucking hot to sleep, too wet, craving my cock to plunge in and out of you._

 _The woman murmured something. She wasn't addressing either of us but I answered anyways while steadily massaging your clit. Her eyes widened and she blushed yet cleared up she was speaking to the man beside her. I asked her a question, inquiring where she was from, where they were traveling. She replied and your hand landed on the one getting you off. Your nails dug into my skin._

" _Don't stop," you whispered._

 _No, I'll never stop._

 _I knew you were getting close. The man stuttered profusely. I moved my finger faster, edging you closer to the end._

 _I told a joke and the sound of their laughter coincided with your cunt convulsing out of control. Watching you cum never gets old, baby._

 _It never gets old._

It was so quiet when he finished apart from the stucco thump of the music from upstairs. Damon folded the letter, looking pensive. I followed the trail of saliva his tongue left behind on his bottom lip when he licked it. He met my gaze, pupils so dilated his eyes appeared black.

In my mind we lunged for one another. Arms wrapping tight, mouths latching, tongues rolling over one another. And because that thought sprung to my head and my muscles twitched in anticipation to do just that, I got up and walked across the room. There weren't any windows to look out of or open to get some fresh air to relieve the sexual pressure in the room. Just the TVs on the walls, and the bar that was without an attendant. It's where I took up refuge.

I didn't hear his feet moving across the carpet but I knew he was crossing it like it was an ocean, the waves and wind bringing an enemy ship closer to shore. I braced my elbows on the bar top, cataloged the bottles stacked on the shelves, all the while the fine hairs along the back of my legs stood at attention as if stimulated by static. I should leave because I knew if Damon touched me or said the right thing I'd shed him out of his suit and pull my panties to the side.

One pale hand landed on the bar followed by the other. He bracketed me in, surrounded me from all sides. Every time he exhaled it tickled the nape of my neck, "Whoever wrote you that letter…I don't know if I should be jealous or take notes. Right now I'm feeling a combination of both, but I'm feeling something else too, and I think you know what that is."

"Damon…"

"Why are we fighting the inevitable, Bonnie? We both know how this story ends."

"This is lust. Lust fades."

"Perhaps but the longer you ignore it the louder it becomes. How loud will it get before you do something about it? We should just fuck and get it out of our system."

I laughed. He was no different from Mason or Kennedy. One I wanted out of the novelty of sleeping with a stranger, and the other had simply been trying out her luck. Here I was in this position again. Was there an epithet tattooed across my forehead? Was I nothing more than a body to rut in and against? But I replayed Damon's words. He made it so clear a dolphin could hear that he wanted me as his domme, now he was reducing that to simply wanting to fuck?

As if he could hear my thoughts, he pressed closer, lips right there at the hypersensitive shell of my ear. "You know I want more but I'll take whatever you want to give me."

I shook my head from side to side. This couldn't happen. Even as I thought it I knew I was lying to myself. The palms of my hands burned, my heart was in a full gallop, and my nipples were so hard they could engrave steel.

Damon moved. It was an imperceptible move at first. A move that made it hard to distinguish if it had been an accident or done on purpose. He did it again smashing to pieces my earlier confusion. My lids fluttered as liquid heat speared through me, pooling in my pussy at the feel of him. Gotdamn. He _had_ to be working with nine inches. The word stop dangled on the tip of my tongue, but it never made it from my lips. I looked at him standing behind me. His eyes were riveted to my ass. Heat ratcheted up, making my cheeks sting. I arched my spine and rubbed against him.

What we were doing was wrong. Illicit. My dress was literally halfway up my ass and my pink palace was practically wrapped around his prick. The flimsy barrier of my thong was simply no match. When Damon slid up, I slid down. Dry humping. But I convinced myself we were merely dancing.

His grunts in my ear matched each hiss and whimper that was involuntarily wrenched out of me. If we were naked right now, the slapping of our skin would be so loud you'd hear it in China. Damon reached around seeking out my clit but I caught his hand in a vice. So he detoured and headed north attempting to pull down the bodice of my dress, but I stopped him again.

His stroke changed and he was rubbing just right, moving fast enough to cause friction right on my clit that had hardened obscenely. "I want to fill you with my cum and eat it out of you," he roared. "Gotdamn, Bonnie I want you so much!"

Hearing that nearly flung me over the edge. I stuck my ass out more as he thrust his hips faster and I swear all the veins in my head were about to explode.

"Hey Damon, you in here?"

"Shit."

The world spun. One minute I was bent over the bar and the next I was facing away from the door, Damon acting as a shield. With shaky hands I fixed my clothes and tried to make myself as invisible as possible while my heart hammered my ribs unmercifully. I could taste my fear as it coated my tongue and made my knees tremble. How could I be so stupid! We were caught!

"What the hell do you want?" Damon barked.

Whoever interrupted us didn't say anything for a beat or two. Probably trying to figure out what we had been up to. But it was a wakeup call, a bucket of ice to the face. I had given my hormones too much power.

"I said what do you want?" he repeated his question and I heard malice in his voice for the first time.

"I just…ah…Stefan and Gabe got into it again. One of them is bleeding."

"Dammit, all right I'm coming. Now get the fuck out," he addressed me the second we were alone. "Bonnie?"

I said nothing as I slipped away once I was presentable, and picked up my unfinished glass of absinthe. I tossed the rest of it back, squeezing my eyes shut. I'd made two—no— _three_ mistakes tonight. Being alone with temptation, allowing myself to be seduced, and drinking this shit.

Damon was notably worried but he was far more composed than I was. His brow was sweaty, cheeks and ears pink. "Are you okay?"

I waved his question away. "Go see about your brother. I'm not going anywhere," I said. He didn't look convinced. "I promise. Besides…I'm a little shitfaced."

I plopped on the couch like dead weight, proving my point.

"I'll be right back, okay? Please don't leave this room."

I left. It was just the figurative kind of leaving.

* * *

Either I had poor attention skills and never noticed this phenomenon until day, but everywhere I looked I saw couples. Displayed in windows advertising cotton weaved shirts and the latest footwear. They strolled hand-in-hand along the gum speckled sidewalks, sat in booths laughing and touching, blocked pedestrian traffic arguing over which route to take to get somewhere. There was no escaping them but they served as motivation to run the last remnants of absinthe out of my system even harder.

Running through a sea of people did little to ease the scary feeling I was being watched. Everyone was a spy. Everyone was staring at me harder and I couldn't overcome the sensation my actions were being reported. But that's what a guilty conscience does. Makes you think what you've done has been magnified and thrown up on billboards.

Regardless of how fast I ran, I had to question and be real with myself and ask if I were infringing on having an emotional affair. Being with someone didn't make you immune to the magnetism of someone of the same or opposite sex, but once you began to fantasize, and feelings attached themselves, you were no longer just having fleeting thoughts but actively seeking comfort in someone you shouldn't. The plotting began to see them whenever and wherever. Those were clues you were about to throw everything you cared about out the damn window. The correct response would be to distance yourself, but people loved going after what they can't have. I loved Tyler and he loved me. We had something special but…

I was never one to believe that love was only real if you felt like you'd die or couldn't live on if you lost the person you loved. If Tyler and I were to end right this second I was sure I'd be pissed, sad, and feel lonely, but I wouldn't crumble and fall to pieces. That was the theory and not one I wanted to try out, but I knew I'd be all right. Losing him wouldn't be the catalyst for me swearing off men.

So what did that mean? I loved him but wasn't _in love_? I was in love but at the same time I was indifferent? I was perfectly okay with making a life with him, but if he wanted out, a divorce I wouldn't fight it?

Ideally I could write off what happened last night as a consequence of drinking while horny. But I knew better. I needed to deal with this before I fucked everything up.

Before long I was at my high rise. A couple beat me to the door. Great. Their heads were close together, their conversation hushed, their hands clasped. I followed behind them and smiled my thanks at the man who held the door open so I could walk through.

The couple headed for the elevators as I made my way to the mailboxes but stopped.

Damon was there. I shuffled out of view and watched him. He was talking to a blonde, her back to me. I've seen her a couple of times in passing. He was smiling. Then laughing. The blonde touched his arm, flipped her hair. She moved closer, inclined on her toes and from my vantage point it appeared they kissed. My nostrils flared. The blonde left, wiggling her fingers in salutation. Damon observed her for a moment and eventually grabbed his mail. I didn't move from my spot until he boarded the elevator. Didn't know any of our other neighbors, my ass.

"Whatever." I took the stairs to my apartment though my legs were jelly and I still hadn't properly caught my breath. I slammed my door harder than necessary and pulled off my exercise gear as I headed to the bathroom to wash the funk off of me.

Shower done, my phone buzzed. I cursed after seeing the numerous missed calls and text messages that filled my inboxes. I hadn't checked my phone since I left the office yesterday. Sighing I realized the number of notifications I had was more than I was used to and what was even more perplexing was most were from friends I hadn't seen or spoken to in months. However, a majority of the calls were from M. I listened to one of her voicemails where she simply said to call her back. I did but she didn't answer.

I checked my text messages. They pretty much asked the same question: Is this you?

Someone provided a link to a website.

Ohmygod.

My phone started ringing. It was M. She was screeching before I could even put the device fully up to my ear.

"Are you fucking Damon Salvatore!"

My voice almost didn't cooperate but I managed a resounding, "No."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying." Technically.

"There are pictures! Pictures of the two of you dancing and leaving some club last night."

Yeah, the two of us leaving the club was kind of hazy. I remembered Damon helping me to his car, and him putting me in bed, but that was about it.

"That doesn't mean I'm sleeping with him," I refuted.

"But you're with him?"

"No I'm not, M. Will you calm the hell down?"

She huffed but at least she quieted down. "Then explain to me what's going on, because it looks like my best friend is leading a double life when she's supposed to be madly in love with her fiancé whom she's been with for the last two and a half years and has known all of her life! If you don't want to be with Tyler that's fine, but don't go behind his back in full view of the public."

I plopped down my couch where Sphinx immediately curled up beside me softly whacking me with his tail. "It's not like that. Things between Damon and I are…" they weren't innocent, "it's not what the press is trying to make it out to be."

"You know lies spread faster than the truth, Bonnie. Did you stop to think how this will affect not just you and Tyler and you guys' families, but your business?"

"Like I said," I was growing irritated, "it's not what some nosey assholes with cameras are trying to make it out to be. We're not having an affair. We're just friends."

"But you can't possibly tell me that things are strictly platonic either, can you?" she jeered. "You know, in the back of my mind I knew he only asked me out in order to get closer to you."

"M…"

"I'm not mad he didn't want me. I'm too damn shy to be thrust under a microscope if he really had been interested in me. I'm not cut out for it. I just…I don't want this to blow up in your face. Talk to Tyler about this before he sees and draws the same conclusions. Do you really want to lose him over a misunderstanding? You want to be with him, right?"

My other line started blowing up. Checking the caller ID, I groaned. It was my mother.

"I have to go, M. My mom is calling probably to yell at me about the same damn thing. I'll call you back."

I hung up on M but I didn't answer my mother's call either. I already knew what she was going to say. That I needed to fix this, bury it before it gained anymore traction. She would also tell me to stay the hell away from Damon, relocate to Germany for a while and work remotely or come home. The thing was, putting miles between me and Damon wasn't going to stop anything. A ball had been set in motion. Where it traveled I couldn't say but I couldn't deny it was there. Cami, my therapist, said to go over every variable before making a decision. The first response was sometimes the wrong response and do-overs were hardly granted. I needed to be smart about this.

Gnawing my bottom lip, I looked at Sphinx who stared up at me with his large ocher eyes. "What should I do?"

He meowed.

Yeah, Sphinx always knew the right thing what to say.

* * *

I went to Damon's apartment. The surprise on his face when he opened the door pleased me. Him taking in my attire stroked my ego even more.

"Bon…"

Shutting his mouth with my forefinger, I said, "Have you seen the article about us? The one speculating you've found a new puck bunny?"

"Yeah, I saw. A few more articles have popped up. I was on the phone with my publicist all morning trying to get the shit taken down. We're working on it so I don't want you to worry about it."

"I'm not worried. Right now the only people who know it's me are the people who know me. If my name gets released, well I can spin it to work in Themyscira's favor. There's something I need you to do, though."

"What?"

"I have an investor friend who's agreed to let me borrow his private plane for the next twenty-four hours. Pack a bag. We're going to Chicago."

"Why?"

"You'll see. Pack. _Now_."

"Yes, ma'am." He couldn't contain his grin as he stepped aside and allowed me entry into his pad. "Anything in particular I need to bring?"

Yeah…your safeword.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading. Reviews are love.**


End file.
